


Strangeness and Charm

by IvyM



Series: The Women of Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair knows nothing, All of Origins, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, BAMF Warden (Dragon Age), Badass elf, Dalish Origin, Depends what I can get working on the xbox, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Full Playthrough, Grey Warden Joining, Just regular sex, More plot than porn, Morrigan knows something, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, Possibly some DLC, Sex, Single POV, Skipping the side quests, This may take a while, iRex, it's complicated - Freeform, just a bit, not lots of sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-01-15 02:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 94,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18489352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyM/pseuds/IvyM
Summary: ON HOLD - I will be taking a break from this fic for Promptober and NaNoWriMo, and will resume writing in December, so expect new chapters in Jan 2020.It's the classic story of Elf meets Mirror, Mirror almost kills Elf, Elf becomes Grey Warden, Elf meets Boy, Elf and Boy face Blight. You all know how it goes, right?It'll be a long one, with all the chapters and all the words, and some swears, some violence, maybe even some romance. Definitely adult themes.Most of the fic is M-rated. The explicit content (for those wishing to avoid, or to beeline straight to the juicy stuff) is in the following chapter(s);1419





	1. No Peace In Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Credits:  
> All characters are in some way derived from Dragon Age characters, so all credit to Bioware or EA or whoever's in charge these days! Many plot aspects, and some dialogue will be heavily reliant upon the source material, some will be all mine.
> 
> Fic title and all chapter titles will be song titles (so you can build a playlist as you go, if you like!) Strangeness & Calm is from Florence + The Machine. 
> 
> Chapter title credits will be given at the beginning of each chapter, along with any content warnings.
> 
> Chapter 1 title, No Peace In Quiet, is originally a song by Delta Rae

It was Oriana’s favoured terrain; open forest, the underbrush grazed away by the countless animals who lived here. Gentle undulating hillocks and sudden crags, the odd sharp incline or crevasse to traverse, fallen trees for climbing over, and not a single human road or stone brick building to ruin the view. The animals were so abundant that she felt no need to hold back her whoops of joy, her laughter carrying only a small way before being swallowed up by the loose canopy. Dappled sunlight trickled through the leaves and branches, the bright light catching her eye, sparking off of drops of dew still highlighting spider webs. Everything about this morning made her happy, from the ground beneath her leather-clad feet to the bow and quiver tied to her back, thudding gently against the base of her spine as she ran and clambered.

“You run as if you’re saying goodbye,” the slightly breathless voice was accompanied by a second set of soft footfalls and caused a warm feeling to join the light happiness Ri was already experiencing.

“You heard the Keeper,” she returned, reaching her hand out and giving his a brief squeeze. “We move on soon.” Such was Dalish nature, ever transient as they moved from camp to camp, returning to one place maybe once every decade. Mostly sticking to similar woodlands, hills and valleys with good hunting, shelter from the worst of the weather, and a good distance from any shemlan cities, Ri couldn’t put into words quite why this particular camp had spoken to her more than any other. She met the eyes of her lover, seeing a gentle concern in his dark green eyes. His hand, delicate and sandy-coloured gripped tight to her darker fingers. For all that the clan were a family, the Dalish bloodlines were kept clean and varied by the constant movement of people. Ri’s own mother had left when Ri was only small, seeking her own path and setting out for another clan where she could find purpose. No distinct family units existed; her clan were her family, the Keeper and the other elder members had raised her. The other new adults had been her playmates as she had grown, they had been taught how to track, to hunt, to keep hidden from any potential enemy. Away from their teachers they had learnt of passion and flirtation, and of the many ways of enjoying their adulthood.

Tamlen was not Ri’s first, but he had definitely stayed in favour the longest. She couldn’t deny there was a very natural compatibility between them; a chemistry both physical and also of temperament. That, she found herself thinking, was why she hadn’t immediately rejected his suggestion of hand-fasting. Unlike the shemlan concept of marriage, binding two people together indefinitely and constrictingly, the hand-fasting would be in effect for one year. They would be exclusive for one year, then they would be free to renew their vow for another year, or to part amicably. Ri wanted to travel as her mother had; wanted to leave her clan and roam further afield, to find new clans and pass on what she had learnt, to take what they had to offer, and to find her place or move on yet again. She would never ask Tamlen to follow her if he did not want to, but she supposed she could give him a year.

“There,” he was still, stiff even, craning his head left and right as he listened. Ri emerged from her thoughts and listened. There was something, a distant scuffle. Feet, voices, not the soft steps of elves, but the wanton destruction of humans. This was not the territory of man. Ri met Tamlen’s eyes once more and gave a quick nod. He unsheathed his two wickedly sharp curved blades and she readied her bow, preparing an arrow loosely nocked.

Breaking apart, the two elves crept through the forest, forming a two-figure pincer movement as they moved toward the noise. The crashing noise of some very clumsy shemlan. Ri’s eyes narrowed in fury that they dare leave their precious towns and villages to trespass upon her final moments with the forest she had grown to love. Picking her spot, she waited until the first shemlan, a large, shambling man with a mop of ginger hair, started up an incline, then she stepped out in front of him, her bow drawn, arrow pointed directly at him. The shemlan tumbled backward, landing on his back, fear shining brightly in his eyes. Ri gave him a quick once over; he had a simple sword strapped to his back; certainly nothing he could grab before Ri could loose an arrow. He wore leather guards at his wrists, and sturdy boots, but otherwise was mostly clad in linen. So, she quickly discovered, were his two companions; each equally red of hair, and sharing a familial resemblance.

“It’s a Dalish!” the fallen man exclaimed, seemingly unperturbed by the arrow pointed at his chest.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Ri gave in her most menacing voice. The oldest of the men glared at her.

“Let us pass, elf. You have no right to stop us,” he demanded.

“No?” Ri asked lightly. “And yet here I am,” she allowed the corners of her mouth to turn up a little into a half smile. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Tamlen joined her, his blades in front of him, up and ready to fight. “What do you think?” she asked him, her voice low, but audible to all. “Bandits?”

“We aren’t bandits, I swear,” the fallen man clambered to his feet; the youngest in face, but the tallest. “Please don’t hurt us.”

“You shemlen are pathetic. It’s hard to believe you ever drove us from our homeland.” Tamlen spoke up; a subject Ri knew he could go on and on about. Tamlen had paid more attention in their history teachings than she had. Back then she had had a thing with Sevril and had probably been too enamoured of him to pay much attention to the whys and wherefores of the shemlan oppression.

“We’ve never done nothing to you, Dalish! We didn’t even know this forest was yours, I swear!” the middle shemlan screeched. Ri shook her head disapprovingly.

“The forest belongs to nobody,” she scolded. “But you have clearly forgotten your lessons, or have yet to learn what happens if you stomp about too close to a Dalish camp. This is no place for you.”

“Whatever shall we do with them, lethallan?” Tamlen asked, his voice laden with threat.

“Why were you out here?” Ri demanded, levelling her bow in an obvious show of aggression.

“We were just looking in the ruins, not doing no harm-”

“Don’t lie to me shemlan,” she growled, loosing an arrow into the ground barely inches from the middle human’s foot. There was a yelp, and all three men shuffled backwards.

“What ruins?” Tamlen asked, his voice grounded, almost calming compared to Ri’s fury.

“There’s a cave,” the middle stammered.

“Yes, a cave! Ruins like we’ve never seen. We were looking for -” the youngest jumped in, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

“Treasure?” Ri asked, drily. “Not bandits but thieves then,” she scowled.

“Where are these so-called ruins?” Tamlen demanded coolly. “I’ve not heard of any ruins in these parts.”

“I - I have proof!” the youngest stepped forward, reluctantly holding out a large rock. “Here, we found this just inside the entrance.” The rock was clearly broken from a larger work. Tamlen stepped forward, his blades lowered, and took possession of the supposed relic. Ri glanced at it and frowned; the carvings looked like writing, not that Ri would know how to read it - the Dalish had their own system of symbols for carving into the earth or trees when wanting to pass a message to fellow elves, but their written language had been taken from them, and they had no need for it anymore. History was passed down in spoken stories, words were a lot lighter to travel with than books and pictures. All the same, there was something in the shapes that didn’t look like any shemlan writings she had ever seen.

“Is that elvish? Written elvish?” Ri asked in a whisper.

“There’s more in the ruins!” the youngest shemlan picked up on their interest. “We didn’t get very far in, though.”

“Is this all you found?” the thought of these people taking away possible elven history left Ri with a bad taste in her mouth. “What happened, couldn’t you find anything else not already pillaged by your kind?”

“There was a demon!” was the unexpected response. “It was huge, with black eyes! Thank the Maker we were able to outrun it,” whilst the man did look earnest, Ri struggled to contain her disbelief.

“Where is this cave?” she demanded, tired of their conversation.

“West,” the eldest spoke quietly, seemingly also ready to walk away from the confrontation. “There’s a cave in the rock face, doors and corridors inside.”

“Your choice,” Tamlen addressed Ri. “Do you trust them? Shall we let them go?”

“Now wait just a minute,” the eldest stepped forward. “We’ve answered your questions, you’ve no right to-”

“I think a lesson is needed,” Ri mused aloud. “They have clearly forgotten their manners; roaming so far into the forests with no heed of any Dalish camps; raiding an elven ruin. It cannot be left to stand,” she pulled back on the string of her bow.

“Which one shall pay for their mistake?” Tamlen mused.

“Go,” Ri instructed. “You are not worth another wasted arrow. Run along, and don’t come back until we Dalish have moved on.” The trespassers needed no further instruction, turning on the spot and racing away just as clumsily as they had arrived. Ri let out an angry hiss as she glanced up to the sky, noting the sun’s position and orienting herself. Tamlen was looking at the large chunk of rock as if trying to make sense of it.

“Shall we go, then?” Ri asked, impatient to be away now her forest had been tainted by these unwelcome visitors.

“Yes let’s,” Tamlen mused. “We should see whether there’s any truth to their story? The Keeper will be more than a little curious if these carvings are anything to go by.”

“Do you know what they say?”

“No, but I would like to.” Weapons away, Ri reached out and took Tamlen’s hand for a second, grounding herself in the stability of the pair of them.

 

The path west was winding, the terrain rising and falling unevenly. Ri and Tamlen jogged amiably, stopping only now and then to harvest fresh elfroot. A common enough plant, it was invaluable in herbal medicine, and was often in demand amongst the clan. The other denizens of the land named it elfroot, a nickname that could have been offensive, but half the clan used it in favour of its traditional name canavaris. Keeper Marethari was adamant that, in their preparations for moving on they should be gathering as much as possible of the herb, as well as food, water, and anything else they might need. She had a destination in mind, but the journey would be hard, particularly on the old and the young, so they had to be able to cope with anything.

Ri spotted the wolves first. That she could see them at all was a surprise this early in the day. That they then did not scatter or melt back into the undergrowth was another clue that something wasn’t right. There was no other path but past them.

“Look big, make noise,” Ri instructed. Tamlen followed her lead, raising his blades like skeletal metal limbs, and intentionally kicking twigs and stones as he walked forward. Ri was in the lead, calling out to the wolves. “Hey, move along,” they weren’t malnourished, didn’t look to be rabid. There was no reason for them to be acting so uncharacteristically hostile. As they neared, Ri realised the two wolves were standing over a dead halla. It wasn’t unusual for wolves to hunt halla, but as a Dalish, Ri felt a fierce sense of protectiveness over the elegant deer-like creatures. They were more than beasts to her people, they were companions; not to be tamed but to be invited to join the clan and to be ever treated with the respect due to them.

Then the first wolf lunged toward them, jaws gnashing as it tried to land a bite. Ri sprung back, pulling an arrow from her quiver and firing without hesitation. She didn’t want to hurt these creatures, but more than that she didn’t want to be hurt. A hurt Dalish was a burden on the entire clan. As her arrow thudded into the wolf’s shoulder, her second was nocked and ready to go. Tamlen darted forward to meet the second wolf, his blades making a harmonius zing as they swept through the air.

Ri let out a growl of frustration as she loosed her second arrow, moving back and away from the edge of the path and its sudden drop. The wolf yelped, but lunged again, its claws raking her leather armour with enough force that she knew it would leave a mark. Teeth sank into her arm, around the edges of her bracers, breaking the skin as she kicked out, wresting her arm back from the wolf’s grasp and kicking up at its head as she retreated further. Another two arrows in quick succession dropped the beast to the earthen floor. Tamlen’s wolf soon followed, leaving the two elves breathing heavily as they looked at each other.

“Fenedhis!” Tamlen cursed as Ri dropped to a crouch beside her felled wolf. She checked its eyes and mouth, then ran a hand over its coat, finding nothing unusual about it.

“Ir abelas,” she gave a soft apology to the dead wolf, then gave the same soft words to Tamlen’s wolf. Treading carefully she followed the path to the halla’s body. It was definitely dead, she realised with a selfish sense of relief that she would not have to put it out of its misery. Cause of death was obvious in the slashes to its throat. “Falon’Din enasal enaste,” she whispered a quick prayer for the dead, pressing two fingers to her lips and then touching them to the halla’s forehead. “Sleep peacefully da’len.” Tamlen moved to stand behind her, one hand gently on her shoulder.

“You want to continue?” Ri nodded.

“Yes, something is going on. Ruins I’m sure can’t have been here before, wolves acting like this. I don’t like it.”

 

The sense of adventure was fading somewhat as the two elves pressed on, their path taking them downwards between large slabs of rock, until a cave opening became visible. It wasn’t exactly tucked away. The look of confusion and worry on Ri’s face was matched by equal feelings displayed by Tamlen. He spoke first;

“This must be the cave. I don’t recall seeing this before, do you?”

“No,” Ri agreed. “We’re here now, I don’t like it, but we should see what’s in there, take a full report back to the Keeper so she can decide what we ought to do.”

“So responsible,” Tamlen joked tenderly. “When did you get so grown up?”

“I just want her to be proud of me,” Ri confessed, trying to shrug off an inner yearning for reassurance. Tamlen merely smiled, and stepped towards the mouth of the cave.

 

Rough hewn rock opened into a very obvious corridor, with the hint of a door within. Ri kept her bow ready, noting that Tamlen’s blades remained in his hands. Her eyes darted around the smooth stone floor, and up the walls, looking for anything unusual or dangerous.

A gentle slope downward brought the walls closer around them, and Ri found herself looking at something white and fibrous on the ceiling. She opened her mouth to direct Tamlen’s attention upward, but he was almost in the small chamber at the bottom of the entrance corridor, and there was a sound ahead of them that turned Ri’s stomach. She silently caught up with her lover as he slowed his pace, turning slightly to check she was still with him. An almost imperceptible nod of his head to the left indicated the direction they would take once in there. Ri closed her eyes tightly, then opened them and started forward - there was no going back now.

Even as they were stepping in to the chamber there was a hissing sound as two humongous spider creatures dropped from the ceiling. Bigger than any arachnid Ri had ever come across before, they were immediately on the attack just as the wolves had been. Ri wasted no time lifting her bow and firing an initial shot. Both creatures swarmed Tamlen, giving Ri the space she needed to fire. Her trusty bow was great for bringing down prey over a great distance, but was sorely limited in a melee situation. The extra few paces gave her the space she needed to fire three arrows in quick succession and incapacitate the nearest spider. Tamlen downed his a moment before hers curled in on itself.

“Well this is a charming little place,” she scowled, retrieving what arrows she could from the body.

“I didn’t know they got this big,” Tamlen returned, looking down at the horrific corpses, then at Ri. “Not too late to go back for help,” he reminded her.

“And risk losing the place?” she frowned, momentarily contemplating the idea of making a run for it. “No, if we go back the Keeper will just send the others and Merrill will crow about it for the whole journey. This is our find, we see it through, at least until it gets really scary.” Tamlen nodded, gesturing for her to lead on, and so she did, first looking around the room for anything interesting, or anything they could take back to the Keeper. There was barely anything. A lot of the heavy floor tiles had been lifted up by the roots of plants growing through the cave. Ornate pillars stood tall, holding the ceiling up, but some darker corners definitely didn’t look like they would hold in a true emergency.

“This way,” Ri called in a loud whisper, standing by the door in the middle of the chamber. The other directions had proved only to be dead ends with naught but a few dusty old weapons for the pilfering, Tamlen had hooked a rusty-but-solid mace to his belt, and Ri had found herself laying claim to a matched pair of light swords. The door led to the middle of another corridor which stretched out to both the left and the right. The slow natural erosion was present here too, with entire wall slabs having cracked, earth and knotted roots spilling through as nature reclaimed the land. Arbitrarily picking left, Ri ventured forward until the corridor ended with a right hand turn and a closed door. The stone walls, elaborately decorated, and the arched doorway were all a far step from her ever changing camp of wagons and tents. Ri looked back at Tamlen, ensuring he was ready, then she stepped forward and opened the door. Thick roots punctured the ceiling and floor, a strange natural pillar in the ruined stone rooms. Ri had no time to marvel over the power of the forest as movement drew her eye to yet another spider. She stepped forward to engage, and found a large pressure pad on the floor just inside the doorway.

“Trap,” she hissed, immediately crouching to take a look at it. A simple enough trigger, Ri instinctively started work on dismantling it,thinking she had time enough. Incorrectly, it turned out. A spray of sticky white fibres hit her, knocking her for a moment off balance. She yelped, pulling angrily at the substance, and glaring at the spider, its spinneret pointed at her. White webs covered the doorway, as well as clinging to her head, back, and arms, she could feel it restricting her movement.

“Brace yourself, Ri,” Tamlen called, causing Ri to stiffen. A moment passed, and then she felt a leatherbound foot on her back, and a sudden pressure as Tamlen leaped over her, entering the room with furious blades arcing through the air. Ri swore, silently chastising herself for stopping in the face of the enemy. A small voice in her head tried to point out that clearing a path for a swift exit was a necessity, but that voice was lost to her concentration. When she was eventually back on her feet, pulling free of the sticky web, Ri found Tamlen facing off against the last of three spiders, the other two clearly very dead. Ri shot an arrow toward the feral beast, before Tamlen struck the killing blow.

“Good work,” she breathed, shaking off the last remnants of the sticky web. “Maybe don’t get caught in the webs,” poor advice, but it brought a smile to Tamlen’s face which seemed as big a win as Ri was likely to get in this situation. “Are you hurt?” she asked, noticing pain on Tamlen’s face.

“Just a scratch,” he gestured toward his shoulder. There was blood, but not enough to make Ri worry. She looked down at her own arm and the already clotting wound the wolf had given her. They were going to cause some raised eyebrows when they got back to camp. All they needed was to find something they could take with them to make this all worthwhile.

 

The chamber contained, besides the fresh spider corpses, a large square hole in the floor, half covered with large cross beams. Smashed crates, and spiderwebs filled the rest of the oddly shaped floor space, and two faint pathways long disused led through to another two doors. Wordlessly the two elves pressed on to the nearest one, only to find the door wouldn’t open. Ri let out a huff of irritation as they turned back to walk through the room to the other door.

Another pressure plate trap lay beyond this door. Ri waited a long moment to be sure the next corridor was free of any more spiders before dropping to her knees to disarm it. Yet another trap lay in front of the door at the far end of the corridor. “High security for some empty rooms,” she mused aloud. “What’s the betting there’s a bunch of angry spiders in this room too?”

“Probably more likely than a large table of food, or medical herbs,” Tamlen quipped. “I’m starting to think there’s nothing here the Keeper would be interested in.”

“We’ll go a little further, then call it a day and head back,” Ri suggested. “Just in case the feasting herbalist is set up right in the back.”

Three spiders lay in wait, as single-minded on killing the elves as the others had been. This chamber was larger, and had a number of root pillars where it seemed the roof was only being held up by the plants pushing through it. Ri made sure to keep to the edges as she loosed arrow after arrow toward her eight-legged foes. Any hesitation she might have felt in fighting their first spider encounter was now gone as she fought hard to put the wild creatures down, lamenting the loss of her ammunition. As the last spider fell she moved to reclaim her arrows finding only half of them were fit for re-use.

“This way?” Tamlen gestured to a corridor which appeared to lead further into the ruins, as opposed to the other possible exit which appeared to take them back towards the way they came in.

“Lead on,” Ri responded.

 

The corridor turned a right angle and they found the first thing that actually stood out as something of historical value. Tamlen noticed it first; an almost skeletal figure - a statue, arms low and open in a peaceful gesture, although one bore a tall spear or staff. Jagged wings spread out behind the figure like a cloak blown in the wind. Ri stood and stared at the figure, unable to begin to work out who she was or what it all meant. Tamlen seemed to have more of a clue.

“I can’t believe this. You recognise this statue, don’t you?”

“I- She looks familiar, but it’s worn away” Ri lied, ashamed of her ignorance. If Tamlen judged her, he hid it well.

“Back when our people lived in Arlathan, statues like these honoured the Creators. When the shems enslaved us, much of that lore was lost. This looks like human architecture, but there’s a statue of our people,” he puzzled. “Can these ruins date back to the time of Arlathan?”

“We’re a long way from Arlathan,” Ri murmured, frowning at the displaced statue. “So much of our past is lost to us.”

“I’d never have guessed ancient elves might have lived here. With humans!” he trailed off, looking around with new eyes. “This is so far removed from the life we live.”

“One more door,” Ri decided. “Then we’ll go get Keeper Marethari. Merrill’s going to be so angry she missed this.” Tamlen chuckled; Ri’s on and off again friendship with the Keeper’s first was a constant source of amusement for him.

 

The next door looked like every other door they had already met. Ri searched the ground in front of it, but could see no pressure plate. “If there’s a trap it’ll be just inside the door,” she deduced. “Tread carefully and bring on the spiders.” She stepped forward and immediately regretted her words. There may not have been a pressure plate like the other doors, but instead there was a much more intricate decoration on the floor, and her soft footsteps seemed to have triggered this new trap. A light green mist filled the small ante-chamber between the corridor and the doorway, and several creatures seemed to rise from what had been merely piles of dust and detritus.

Not spiders, these were far worse. Ri lifted her bow and aimed it at the figures, seeing them come into more detail as the fog dissipated. Two skeletons bearing swords were shambling toward her, their eye sockets empty shadowy holes in shabby off-white skulls. They wore armour, old fashioned and a little tattered around the edges, but Ri wasn’t entirely sure what they were protecting with it - from what she could tell they didn’t have hearts or lungs.

“Magic,” she hissed, loosing an arrow and finding her quiver nearly empty. Too near for her liking, she dropped the bow and pulled the swords from her belt, swinging them into the eerie being. Tamlen seemed to have found a shield in their travels, and had swapped his blades for the mace he had picked up.

A little less confident with the blades than her bow, Ri fought wildly, almost desperately, trying to block the heavy sword blows, whilst also trying to land her own blows on the skeleton. Tamlen disabled his foe first, and quickly came to her aid, crushing the skeleton’s skull with one easy movement.

“Thanks,” Ri gasped between heaving breaths, hooking the swords back onto her belt as she reclaimed her bow. She looked back at the door, starting to feel afraid of what might be beyond it. “I almost miss the spiders,” she quipped, no real humour behind her words.

“Last room,” Tamlen agreed with her earlier declaration. “Then we get out of here.”

 

The door swung open and, to Ri’s surprise, there were no spiders beyond it. No more traps, no skeletons. The plant-based destruction was evident here, but looked almost intentional. It was a large round room with a large round platform in the middle, and the biggest mirror Ri had ever seen, sitting atop a stepped dais. The walls were lost to the circle of tree-thick taproots that stretched from the floor to the ceiling.

“What am I looking at?” she asked Tamlen, stepping toward the irrefutably elven creation.

“I don’t know,” came the reply, “but I want to.”

As they neared the platform Ri became aware of a low growling sound. Before she had time to grab Tamlen’s arm, let alone make any movement to leave, an unfeasibly large beast leapt out from behind the mirror.

From a distance it might have been called a bear, but the brief view Ri had of the creature revealed it to be in many ways different from any bear she had ever seen. For a start it was much, much bigger, and then there were the ferocious bone-coloured spikes erupting from its back, face, and flank. The bear seemed to be covered in blood and, as it moved forward, a nauseating smell accompanied it. The growl turned into a roar of pain, anger and desperation.

Ri’s bow was in her hands as the deformed bear started toward them. She grasped one of her last four arrows and shot it into the bear’s forearm. Another arrow thudded into its chest as Tamlen stepped up to meet it, mace in hand. Another arrow to its other forearm, and one which just seemed to bounce off its head, and Ri was out. The bow was dropped once more and the blades prepared as she joined the ferocious fighting between Tamlen and the enraged monster.

The bear fought savagely, clawing and gnashing its teeth, as Ri and Tamlen danced either side of it, swords and mace rushing through the air, aiming at its shoulders, its rib cage. Its head was too solid to damage, and the further back they went, the more spikes they had to contend with, so every move they made was to keep themselves in the least dangerous position.

Ri felt her swords make contact, pulling them back to swing again but the bear moved faster, turning on her and pouncing. Large paws knocked her flat, and she could feel a sudden warmth as the bear loomed over her, lifting its paw and slashing long claws across her chest. Immediately Tamlen was there, dropping his mace heavily into the centre of the bear’s face. The bear and Ri both let out a simultaneous howl of pain. Part blinded the bear retreated a pace, giving Ri the space to scamper back a little, drawing herself up to a crouch as she felt gingerly to be sure her neck hadn’t been injured. There was warm blood on her chest, although she wasn’t sure if it was all hers, all the bear’s, or an unthinkable mix of the two. She lifted her right hand, the left now swordless and clutching at her wounds. With all the energy she could muster, she drove the rusty old sword up and into the bear’s throat, pulling it back out with a gutteral cry. The bear stumbled, its paws buckling beneath it as it came crashing to the ground. Tamlen pulled Ri back and out of the way of the falling beast just in time to avoid being crushed.

“Is it dead?” she asked.

“Are you ok?” Tamlen ignored her, lifting her chin up with one shaking hand so he could assess her chest and neck.

“I’ve been better,” Ri gasped, shock warring with adrenaline as she both wanted to run and also curl up and cry with relief.

“Armour took most of it, but you’ll have some impressive scars,” was the final appraisal. Tamlen stepped back a little, cupping Ri’s face in his hands. “You scared me,” he confessed.

“I scared myself,” she admitted. “What was that? It looked like a bear, but - wrong.”

“We’ll take a break. You sit down a second. Then we’re going home.” Ri took a seat on the steps that led up to the mirror. Her legs felt shaky and she was more than glad for the break. She looked up at the ornate frame, marvelling at the stonework; two giant figures stood either side of an elegant thin frame, curving to a point at the top in an echo of the door frames they had passed through to get there.

Tamlen climbed the steps to take a closer look at the mirror, and Ri felt a stab of pain in her chest, a combination of her wounds and of jealousy that he would get to check out this artifact before she could.

“Tell me what you see,” she called behind him.

“Amazing that it’s the only thing in here that isn’t broken,” he spoke aloud, reaching the top of the steps. “I wonder what this writing is for,” he reached out his hand to the frame of the large mirror. Ri couldn’t see how good a reflection it gave from her position. “Hey- did you see that?” Tamlen’s alert voice caused Ri to reach for a sword.

“What?”

“I think something moved inside the mirror.”

“Inside the mirror? Help me up, I want to see.”

“It’s there again! Can you feel that? I think it knows we’re here, I just need to take a closer look,” he wasn’t listening to her anymore, as he lifted his hand to the mirror face, his words starting to slur and slow as if he’d had a little too much to drink. “It’s showing me places. I can see some kind of city… underground?”

“Tam,” Ri called, worry filling her as she felt a wrenching sensation beneath her breastbone. “Tam, I need you. Tam please-” The wrenching became a roaring pain.

“And there’s a great blackness,” Tamlen continued, not responding to her pleas. His hands were touching the surface of the mirror, causing ripples to spread over it as if it were made of water. “It saw me! I can’t look away!” his voice was shrill and panicked. Ri couldn’t find any words to answer, her chest felt like it was being constricted. Her hands scrabbled at her throat, her chest, but she couldn’t reach the source of the pain. Tamlen drew closer to the mirror, and there was a sudden bright light. A white more blinding and pure than any sunlight Ri had ever seen. The light took over everything and soon Tamlen’s cries had faded to a ringing silence, and she was all consumed by the light and the pain. The world seemed to spin as Ri passed out, the white fading quickly to black nothingness.

 

 


	2. Bad Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title - Bad Dream, from the song by Ruelle

Waking with a start, it took a lot of mental processing before Ri could reconcile her fractured memories with the realities of her position. Confusing images flooded her mind, of demonic bears, angry skeletons, grey metallic ripples, a shadow looming over her, and a human face. Yet physically she was in the camp, on a softer bed than her usual bedroll. The sun was shining, warming her, but there was a fragment of ice lodged in her chest. Burning ice that seemed to both chill her and scald her the more she thought of it.

Birdsong cut through the memories, and the crackling of a fire - occasional snaps and crunches as the logs broke, or a vein of sap caught alight. Faint murmurs and distant voices rounded off the familiarity which drove most of the darkness away. There was a burst of laughter; Master Paivel’s distinct guffaws amidst a chorus of younger giggles, as the clan’s storyteller held his lessons. Maren’s calls to the Halla floated over the breeze, along with the thud of axe hitting wood; likely Master Ilen starting work on another project, he’d been fixing up the wagons and making spare tools and weapons ready for their journey.

Ri sat up, feeling her stomach churn as she did - somehow she felt simultaneously famished and nauseated, like she hadn’t eaten in a while, but there was something rotten inside her. She looked around, her eyes finding the familar scenes to match the sounds and voices she had heard. Everything looked as she expected it to. Bad dreams, she decided, pushing herself to her feet and tightening the buckles on her armour. There was an odd tightness to her chest, and her leather armour felt like it fitted wrong - like she was still breaking it in. Shaking her head, and quickly regretting the action as her vision blurred for a moment, Ri pushed on, looking for her bow and quiver on the ground. Nothing was beside the bedroll, nor in the immediate surroundings, the nightmare bear reared its head in her memories once more, and the feeling of an empty quiver, but she pushed the thought away. There was something she didn’t want to remember, so she didn’t give it any thought.

“You’re awake!” a voice called out in surprise. “You’ve the gods’ own luck, lethallan. You’re back at camp. Everyone is worried about you. How do you feel?” Ri frowned at Fenarel, silently scolding him for daring to make real the awful nightmares she was suppressing. Except - there was something she needed to know, no matter what the answer was. One memory she couldn’t ignore was that of her lover’s cries for help.

“Is Tamlen awake? I - what happened to him?” there was a long pause, a long flicker of uncertainty in Fenarel’s expression, and then far too much pity. Ri took a staggering step back, not wanting to hear an answer.

“We don’t know. The shem who brought you here saw no sign of him.” The hot ice in her chest seemed to flare almost joyously at the despair that coursed through Ri’s veins.

“I have to go find - ” she broke off, Fen’s words settling in her consciousness. “There was a human?”

“A shem brought you back two days ago. You don’t remember him?” Another pulse of something rotten filled her. Two days? She had been sleeping for two days whilst Tamlen was still down there. Why hadn’t the human brought them both back? The hazy memories were starting to fit in place now; the apologetic voice met an image of a dark haired, bearded shemlan.

“It’s all a bit hazy. Two days ago? There was a cave, but I don’t really remember everything. We scared off some shems in the forest; three of them.”

“I doubt you could have driven this one off,” Fenarel said with a grin and a definite look of awe on his face. “He was a Grey Warden, and appeared out of nowhere with you slung over his shoulder.” This was a whole lot of new information, Ri merely blinked at Fenarel for a moment, not being able to find any reference points in her disjointed memories which could verify or refute this version of events. Unperturbed, Fen kept talking, seeming to revel in his position of power; divesting knowledge almost gleefully. “You were delirious with fever. He said that he found you outside a cave in the forest; unconscious and alone.” A flash of memory of crawling through web and caustic spider ichor, of dragging herself up the rising path out of the hellish ruins. “He left you here and ran off again,” Fenarel continued. “The Keeper’s been using the old magic to heal you.”

“But - ” Ri cut in. “What about Tam? Is anyone looking for him?”

“Of course,” Fenarel gave almost dismissively. “Most of the hunters are off looking for him right now. The Keeper did say she wanted to talk to you as soon as you awoke. Stay here; I’ll get her.” The quiet left in the wake of Fenarel’s departure was almost deafening as Ri stood motionless. Her head was filled with turmoil as she tried to make sense out of the story Fenarel had told. Grey Wardens in the forest, two lost days, Tamlen still missing. Three days ago her biggest worry had been moving to a less pretty part of the forest. Now everything was broken and wrong, including her own self.

Ri sat down on the soft bedroll she recognised as being one of the healer’s stations, and crossed her legs. The pain in her chest seemed to be rising and falling, from a definite pain to a lower sense of discomfort. The more she thought of Tamlen the worse it seemed to get.

 

“I see you are awake,” Keeper Marethari’s voice cut through Ri’s internal crisis. “It is fortunate Duncan found you when he did. I know not what dark power held you, but it nearly bled the life from you. It was difficult even for my magic to keep you alive.”

“We were attacked. Tamlen could still be out there, sick and unable to get back.”

“I know only that the Grey Warden found you in front of a strange cave, sick and alone,” Ri climbed to her feet, frustrated that she was getting the same non-story she had already heard from Fenarel. “Duncan thought there may have been darkspawn creatures inside the cave, is that true?”

“There were skeletons with swords and armour, just up and fighting like they never died, and there were other strange animals,” Ri didn’t want to admit she wasn’t entirely sure what was and what wasn’t a darkspawn creature.

“Walking skeletons sounds like dark magic, but not a darkspawn. It’s hard to pass judgment on the other strange animals without knowing more,” the Keeper mused. “What else did you find? What is the last thing you remember?”

“There was a mirror, the largest mirror you could possibly imagine. Tamlen saw something in it, he touched it,” her voice faded as she thought of her lover, scared and alone, she couldn’t understand why she would have left him.

“A mirror? And it caused all this? I have never heard of such a thing in all the lore we have collected.” Ri felt a surge of anger at the lore they had lost to the shemlen of the past, and how ignorant it left them to the relics of earlier ages. Keeper Marethari sighed, deep in her own frustrations. “I was hoping for answers when you woke, but there are only more questions.” The infallible older woman was suddenly looking unsure and almost a little afraid. “And Tamlen remains missing. He is more important than any lore in these ruins. If he is as sick as you were, well then his condition is surely quite grave.” Ri’s eyes widened as the Keeper spoke aloud the feelings she was being consumed by.

“Keeper?” she uttered softly.

“Duncan returned to the cave to search for darkspawn, but we cannot rely on him to look for Tamlen as well. We must go ourselves, and quickly,” Ri nodded vehemently, drawing herself up a little straighter and ignoring the agonising weight on her ribcage. “Do you feel well enough to show us the way, da’len? Without you we will not find it.”

“Yes,” the word was out of Ri’s mouth before she even took a moment to think about the reality of returning to the cave. “I feel quite fine,” she lied.

“I am relieved to hear it. I am ordering the clan to pack the camp so we can go north. Take Merrill with you to the cave. Find Tamlen if you can, but do it swiftly.” Ri’s heart sank a little upon hearing the name of her sole companion. She had hoped for a small army, or even a trio of people behind her, but if all the hunters were out already then she could see how there were too few to spare.

“Very well, Keeper. How much does Merrill know?”

“Enough, you may fill in the details on your journey. She knows a degree of my magic. Tamlen’s chances of surviving the journey back are greater with her help.” Ri gave a small nod, a flash of gratitude as she understood the Keeper’s words - Tamlen truly was their priority, and not the mystery of the ruins. “I also wish for Merrill to see this cave and mirror, she has a sense for these things and could shed light on the nature of this illness.”

“I understand,” Ri deferred to her leader. “I’ll go get armed, find Merrill and we’ll head out to find the cave and bring Tamlen home.”

“Go quickly,” Keeper Marethari warned. “For Tamlen’s life hands in the balance.” Ri felt no small degree of frustration that they had allowed her to sleep for so long when the situation was clearly so dire, but she held her tongue, giving a respectful nod as she turned from her Keeper and looked around the camp, trying to quell the panic in her head.

 

Master Ilen was loading boxes and baskets onto a wagon, a small team of the older children running errands for him. He gave Ri barely a glance as she approached.

“Lost your bow?” he grunted.

“I’m going back for it,” Ri returned, falling back on dry humour to cover her growing fear.

“That box over there,” Ilen nodded his head to where one crate sat apart from the packing.

“Many thanks, Hahren,” she gave formally, a dark voice in her mind wondering whether it might be the last time she saw the old man.

The crate contained a new longbow, not ornately decorated but functionally sound. Next in the pile was a quiver, and two dozen arrows. Ri equipped both, then pulled out two finely crafted knives which she hung on each hip. Stacked neatly at the bottom were four vials; healing potions with Merrill’s own seal on the stopper. These fit neatly into individual pockets on her belt. Ri slipped each one away, then thought better of it, retrieving one and uncorking it. The sweet liquid was almost warm as she swallowed it down, feeling the effects almost immediately as the wrongness in her chest seemed somewhat diminished.

 

Ri found Merrill standing by the front of the growing caravan of wagons. She gave a slightly pitying smile as she noticed Ri’s approach.

“The Keeper told me I’m to accompany you back to those caves,” she said, immediately to business.

“Yes,” Ri returned, “this way,” and the two set off at a gentle jog. At first, Ri kept silent, trying to remember the path they had taken three days hence, whilst also wondering whether there was a quicker route - they had travelled some distance away from camp before the shemlans had turned them back.

Moving, having purpose, seemed to keep the aching in her chest subdued, almost enough that she could convince herself that it was concern for Tamlen and not something new and bad and dark. A clearer memory of the bear surfaced, darkspawn, she realised. It had bled on her, into the wounds she could still feel. What if she could feel the bear’s taint within her, what if even now bony spikes were starting to grow, spikes which would thrust themselves out of her cheeks, her back, her hips. What if the darkness had already claimed her as its new vessel.

Merrill was asking questions, but Ri did not have it in her to find answers for them, even when the younger girl shirtily complained that she needed to know what she was walking into. Spite rose within Ri as she fought back a retort that she had not known what she was walking into and she had made it out alive. Barely. Alive but broken. It wasn’t the best comeback, so Ri hid in silence. The Keeper’s apprentice would get to know what she needed to know when she needed to know it.

Eventually they crested a small ridge and started a familiar decline. Except this time there was a strange smell, a smell which set the thing inside Ri’s chest to an uncomfortable thrumming. She stopped jogging, her action causing the mage behind her to stop.

“What?” Merrill asked in a loud whisper.

“Something ahead. Something new and something very bad.” It was the side of the small valley where the confounded wolves had set upon her, Ri recognised as she crept forward, keeping low to the ground and hoping to all the gods that Merrill was following suit. As silently as possible, she unhooked the bow from her back and pulled an arrow from her new quiver, the action slightly awkward as the quiver didn’t sit exactly as her old one had. The bow wasn’t yet worn to sit perfectly in her hand, but it was smooth and the wood was flexible, where the old one had almost developed a creak where it had been used too much.

The enemy came into sight, clearly already aware of their arrival. No woodland creature, nor even a darkened bear, these were two creatures of unspeakable evil, humanoid in as much as they walked on two legs and bore armour and weaponry, but so far removed from humans or elves. Ri wanted nothing more than to scream and run, but her almost-betrothed was lying somewhere beyond them, and there was no other way. She loosed an arrow. A moment later Merrill shot forth a burst of magical energy, her staff raised. The two creatures, genlocks as she would come to learn, raised their own bows to set of a small volley of return fire. Ri side-stepped to avoid being hit, as she set off another arrow into the nearer of the two. The enemy had greater strength, judging by the heavy thunk their arrows made as they hit the ground, but Ri was faster. The two genlocks fell before firing again.

“What were those things?” Merrill demanded. “Were those the darkspawn?”

“They weren’t here before,” she admitted. “If they’re not darkspawn then I dread to think what else they could be. Take a look at them on our way out,” she pressed forward, giving the bodies as wide a berth as she could. “We have to find Tam.”

“I’ve never seen anything like them! You can smell the evil on them,” Merrill continued as they pushed onward.

“There was a dead Halla here before,” Ri indicated on the path as they passed it. The corpse had been dragged away, that much was clear. Ri didn’t particularly want to know where to, or for what reason. 

Another change to the terrain was the campfire that stood a fair distance from the cave’s entrance.

“Was this here before?” Merrill asked. 

“No,” Ri crouched near it, holding a hand over the darkened wood. “It’s still warm, so they’re not far. Eyes open,” she instructed, rising to her feet again. “Do you hear how silent the forest is? It wasn’t this quiet before. This silence is unnatural.”

“Are you injured?” Merrill was staring a little too intently at her face.

“No, why do you ask?” Ri frowned.

“It’s just that you’re looking pale. You look a bit feverish in fact.” Ri rolled her eyes, dismissing the idea. Sure her chest felt like it was being stabbed by a thousand burning icicles, but she wasn’t about to show weakness before the Keeper’s First.

“Let’s just keep moving,” she insisted, walking away. “The cave’s just here, you need to keep your focus on getting out alive.”

Knowing the cave entrance was just around the next corner, Ri pushed on, taking another health potion as she went, and trying to hide the action from her companion.

“Here,” she paused in the mouth of the cave, looking for a moment to Merrill and seeming more fear than amazement on her face. “There were traps before, pressure plates on the floors. I disabled as many as I could find, and I wouldn’t expect the Grey Warden to have set them back up, but still - tread lightly, watch where you step. There were spiders, skeletons, and one very big monster in the mirror room.”

“Sounds delightful,” Ri couldn’t help but to crack a smile at Merrill’s bravado.

“Almost makes me want to settle down,” she retorted, before entering the cave once more.

 

“So this is it?” Merrill mused, carefully picking her way through the massive spider corpses, now giving off a thoroughly disgusting odour. Ri noted a trail on the floor, clearly identifiable to her as her slow and painful escape route the last time she had been here. A shiver ran through her as she looked away, not wanting to remember what had happened the last time.

“Check it out as we walk,” she snapped, pressing forward.

“You think Tamlen’s still alive? With those creatures about?” Ri walked faster, wanting very much to swing her fist into Merrill’s irritating face.

“Don’t speak his name,” she hissed.

 

The first two chambers and the corridors between them were empty, as Ri had hoped. The traps remained un-set, the doors were wide open. The dilapidated ruins were still coated in spider webs, but there did not seem to be any new inhabitants.

It was in the last chamber before the statue corridor and the mirror room that they met more darkspawn. Another two creatures like the ones they had met outside. They skulked through the root-bound columns, meeting spell bolts and arrows from the two elf women. Ri leapt out of the range of the first one’s axe whilst Merrill shot green energy into its head, knocking it to the ground where an arrow to the throat ended its fight. The second hung back, shooting arrows between the columns. The elves moved forwards cautiously, saving their fire until they got clear view and taking the enemy down with lethal precision. If Ri hadn’t been so filled with anger she might even have complimented the Keeper’s Apprentice on her fighting skills.

 

The last corridor, just before the sharp turning and the statue, had been filled with clumsy traps in Ri’s absence. She held a hand up, stopping Merrill in her tracks, then got to work clearing the passageway of the rusty leghold traps that had not been there before.

“New,” she grunted for her companion’s sake. “Could be the Warden’s, could be the darkspawns’ - if they can wield a bow they can surely lay traps,” Once each trap was cleared safely to the side of the corridor Ri walked on, expecting Merrill to follow, and not bothering to look back.

The statue still stood against the corridor walls, but Ri had no time to point it out as she sized up a small cluster of darkspawn standing just outside the way into the mirror room. A tired sigh escaped her lips as she counted five figures. Even collecting her used arrows where possible hadn’t done much to prevent their depletion. This would be her last battle with the new bow today. There looked to be two darkspawn with bows, two with heavy hammers or maces, and one lingering at the back with what looked horribly like a staff.

“You see it?” she asked Merrill.

“I do,” the young mage had gone very pale, but held her own staff up and closed her eyes, drawing on her inner magics. Ri broke the seal on the third of her four health potions, gulping it down to calm the angry pit in her chest. She aimed first for an archer, moving as she shot to position herself behind one of the crumbling columns that lined the corridor. As she shot she noticed bodies on the floor, but dared not give them much attention lest they be the hunters sent by her Keeper. 

A couple of lucky shots downed the archer before the hammer-wielder arrived. Ri propped her bow carefully against the pillar and stepped out to meet the monster, her blades held high. The darkspawn was stronger than her, but slow. Ri jabbed out with her swords, trying to find a weakness in its armour, all the while seeing shots of magic flying back and forth between Merrill and their foe. The second melee fighter made for Merrill, taking her attention from the Emissary. An arrow whistled past Ri, and then another. She heard a yelp of pain, followed by a shout of anger from Merrill, but resisted turning her attention from her enemy. A flare of agony burst within her and she knew then with great certainty that they couldn’t win this fight. They were outnumbered and didn’t have the strength.

“No,” she grunted, trying to fight through the pain, but taking two steps back, her shoulder knocking into the next column.

Parrying desperately she struck the darkspawn in the arm, finding a gap between plates of armour. Ri seized her moment, hacking angrily at that place as she heard Merrill’s close-range magic take its toll on the other brute. They might not survive the fight, but both elves weren’t quite ready to give up. Ri ducked round the darkspawn, its hammer narrowly missing her hip as she slashed maniacally, finding another spot, the neck this time, where she could see what she assumed was skin. These blows seemed to hurt it a lot more, and brought a reprieve from its attacks as it shied back, mewling and gurgling as she cut deeper into its neck, until it finally fell, spraying dark blood as it did so.

Ri turned to face Merrill in time to see her foe also hit the stone floor, its ruddy face seeming to have already started turning black. Heart pounding Ri looked up the corridor, surprised by how quiet the archer and mage were, and yet more surprised to find a human standing there, sword in hand and towering over the fresh corpses of the enemy. Ri recognised the man’s face immediately as being the dark-haired shemlan from her dreams. The Grey Warden, she reasoned, who had quite probably saved her life twice now in as many days.

“Well fought,” he spoke, a deep voice that rang slightly too loudly through the corridor. Ri inclined her head in acceptance, fighting to find her breath and to reclaim her body from the strong discomfort that she felt. She moved one foot and then the other, the momentum seeming to give her back control. Her swords were returned to their place on her belt before she reached her precious new bow, which remained in her hand. A quick check revealed there to be half a dozen bows still in her quiver.

“Warden?” Merrill’s voice evidently still worked. Ri gave the elf a quick up and down, seeing a fresh nick on her arm where the arrow must have grazed her, but no serious injury.

“This way,” the Warden called, disappeared back into the mirror room.

“Don’t touch the mirror,” Ri hissed at Merrill as they followed their saviour.

All the bodies on the floor, Ri was relieved to see, were darkspawn, and further corpses littered the mirror room. The human’s longsword was coated with blood, dripping from its position on his back as he came to a stop at the foot of the stairs. Ri looked around, feeling suddenly very sick as she noticed the blood on the lowest stairs - her blood, the corpse of the bear-monster not too far from the dais. There was nothing in the room of Tamlen - her legs wobbled as she looked from body to body seeing nothing elven amongst them.

“You look better than you did last I saw you,” the Grey Warden acknowledged. “A long way from well though.”

“I’m well enough,” Ri retorted, unable to keep the tremor from her voice.

“I see that,” the Warden’s voice was light on pity, but definitely contained amusement. It did not sit well with Ri to be the butt of the joke, especially with the hot ice feeling returning to that spot beneath her breastbone. “I’ll admit, I’m surprised you have recovered,” he admitted.

“Our Keeper is skilled in the healing magics,” Merrill boasted proudly.

“My name is Duncan, and it is a pleasure to meet you both,” he was courteous, Ri had to give him that. Even if he seemed to be studying her in a somewhat unsettling way. “The last time we spoke you were barely conscious.”

“Andaran atish’an, Duncan of the Grey Wardens,” Merrill greeted the man formally, her Keeper training kicking in. “I am Merrill, the Keeper’s apprentice.”

“Your Keeper did not send you after me, did she? I told her I would be in no danger,” Duncan seemed perplexed, and Ri realised he didn’t know the full story of her adventures before his rescue.

“We’re looking for an elf; Tamlen,” Ri explained. “He- he was here with me before.”

“So you and your friend Tamlen both entered this cave? And you saw this mirror?” his eyes were alive, wide and active as he processed what she had told him. Ri nodded curtly.

“Yes. He saw something in the mirror, then he touched it, then it all went dark.”

“I see,” Duncan’s face fell. “That is unfortunate. The Grey Wardens have seen artifacts like this mirror before; it is Tevinter in origin, used for communication. Over time some of them simply break. They become filled with the same taint as the darkspawn. Tamlen’s touch must have released it.” Ri felt a sudden burst of anger which had nothing to do with the growing wrongness in her chest, but instead with the accusations being laid at the feet of her absent lover. “It’s what made you sick - and Tamlen too, I presume,” Duncan finished, oblivious to Ri’s rage.

“We need to fix it,” she said, glaring up at the mirror. “We need to save him.”

“Unfortunately that isn’t possible. It will taint all those who come near it now.”

“I do not fear this sickness,” Merrill spoke, her voice calm and even. For a single moment Ri would have taken back every mean-spirited thought she had ever had about the girl. “The Keeper knows how to cure it.” Then a crushing realisation hit Ri. The Keeper hadn’t cured anything - the darkness in her core was this taint from the mirror or the bear or both. She was still quite sick.

“She may have weakened it, but she cannot cure it.” Duncan spoke the damning truth. “Your recovery is only temporary. I can sense the sickness in you, and it is spreading. Look inside yourself and you will see,” his words were a kindness Ri did not need. She knew she was broken beyond repair. She didn’t need kind words or a gentle hand to soothe this diagnosis. She needed a cure, a real cure. She met the Warden’s eyes, unflinching.

“You can fix me?”

“For now we must deal with the mirror,” he deflected. “It is a danger.” He climbed the stairs, retrieving his sword from its scabbard.

“No!” Ri screamed as the brawny man swung the sword, destroying the mirror with one easy blow. A bright light filled the room, accompanied by a gutteral cry of rage from the mirror. Ri could feel tears on her cheeks, but made no move to hide them.

“It is done,” Duncan declared as he rejoined the women. “Now let us leave this cursed place, I must speak with your Keeper immediately regarding your cure.”

“What about Tamlen?” Ri demanded, shaking with the sheer energy it took out of her just to sustain her anger.

“There is nothing we can do,” the simple statement was like a slap to her face. Ri staggered back, crumpling as she did, until she was on her knees, the tears flowing faster.

“Oriana lives, Tamlen could still be alive,” Merrill pointed out objectively. The Warden replied directly to Ri.

“Let me be very clear. There is nothing you can do for him. He’s been tainted for three days now, unaided. Through your Keeper’s healing arts, and your own willpower, you have not yet died, but you received much prompter care, and you are still a fair way from being cured. Tamlen has no chance. Trust me when I say that he is gone. Now, we should return.” Ri said nothing, everything hurt, both physically and mentally, and she couldn’t even begin to think of any words that wouldn’t taste like ash in her mouth.

 

Merrill further questioned the Grey Warden as they walked back to the Dalish camp, but Ri didn’t listen. She felt as though she were somewhere apart from the world; in sight of it, but through a thick film. She was a ball of pain and rage, tethered to an elvish body by one very fragile ligament. As they walked she drank her final health potion, aware that she wasn’t bothering to conceal it, but it seemed her companions were both aware she was sick so there seemed no point in pretending everything was fine. Everything was far from fine.


	3. As We Fly South

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The obligatory roadtrip chapter.
> 
> Title song is by Walking On Cars

“Da’len,” Keeper Marethari greeted Ri and Merrill with a warm smile as the three figures entered the Dalish camp. “I am relieved you have returned! And I did not expect to see you again so soon, Duncan,” she added, concern written over her face.

“I was not expecting to return so soon either, Keeper,” he replied gravely.

“Dare I ask of Tamlen? What did you find of him?” this was directed at Merrill, Ri was standing between the apprentice and the Warden, standing on her own two feet, but feeling grateful for the support should she need it.

“We found nothing in the ruins, and the Grey Warden says we shall find nothing, it has been too long,” Merrill reported dutifully.

“I see. And the mirror? What of this mirror?”

“I can answer that, Keeper,” Duncan spoke before Merrill could continue. “I destroyed the mirror.” The flash of anger in the Keeper’s eyes was clear to Ri, but likely lost on the impetuous shem.

“I had intended on using it to find a cure for Oriana’s condition,” she spoke quietly, her tones clipped. “I trust you had good reasons for your actions?”

“There is much to discuss, Keeper. I have learned a great deal since I was last here.”

“Let us speak privately in my araval then, Duncan,” the Keeper sighed. “Merrill; see Oriana to a healer’s bed so that she might rest. Alert the hunters that darkspawn are about, I want the clan prepared to move on short notice. Then get yourself some sustenance. I will speak to the two of you again in due time.”

“Ma nuvenin, Keeper. Right away.” Ri opened her mouth to protest as Merrill started to lead her away, but the elfroot she had been gathering on their walk home was starting to wear off. It was a sweet leaf which had some small healing properties when chewed, although not as much as when brewed into a potion. Despite her intended protestations, Ri sank eagerly into a warm bedroll, drawing herself into the foetal position and closing her eyes.

 

Ri Mahariel didn’t sleep exactly, or at least it wasn’t consistent sleep. She was aware of people moving around her, voices, hustle and bustle, it just seemed to be happening to someone else. It was only when the Keeper’s voice called her name that Ri actually awoke. She drew herself up to a sitting position and found the elder crouched before her.

“Drink this,” Keeper Marethari instructed, handing Ri a wooden cup filled to the brim with a warm floral concoction. It had an odd taste to it, but the warmth was welcome as Ri sipped at it. To Ri’s great surprise the Keeper then took a seat on the ground, followed by the large human, albeit more awkward and unwieldy in his armour.

“Your Keeper and I have spoken, and we’ve come to an arrangement that concerns you,” Duncan spoke, his voice gruff but concerned.

“Just listen, da’len,” Keeper Marethari added. “It will always be your choice, but this is a very serious matter.”

“My order is in need of help. You are in need of a cure. I hope you will join me as I journey back to Ostagar. You would make an excellent Grey Warden, and in doing so you could be freed of this darkspawn infection.” Ri blinked, taking a long sip from the cup to delay any reaction she would have to give. Whatever was in the drink was really bringing the world back into focus, and was immediately quelling the raging darkness in Ri’s chest in a way that the health potions and elfroot just hadn’t managed.

“Keeper? May I ask your advice? What would you choose for me?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

“I would have you here, hale, and whole,” the Keeper spoke softly and sadly. “But faced with this choice, I would have you alive and away with the Wardens rather than dying on the road with us. You are young and a fighter, you deserve the chance to fight this. With darkspawn in the forest, and another outbreak in the Korcari Wilds, I fear we Dales have a long journey ahead of us, and I will be sad not to have you with us, da’len, but you know the fickle nature of the gods as well as I do. You will make us proud, I know you shall.”

“I don’t feel I have much of a choice,” Ri said mournfully. “What does it mean, to be a Grey Warden?” she asked Duncan.

“It means many things, but at its heart, being a Grey Warden is fighting darkspawn. Our numbers are few, and we travel the kingdom, going where we’re needed. In times of Blight we are the first line of defence.” There was something comforting in the idea of retaining the nomadic lifestyle Ri knew and loved.

“Duncan feels,” The Keeper said in a conspiratorially low whisper, “that the increased darkspawn sightings are something to be concerned about. If you go with him you will be asked to fight, that much is certain. A great army of darkness gathers in the south. A new Blight threatens the land. The clan will be heading away from danger to preserve our future, but there is a real risk we may not be able to outrun this storm.”

“So it’s certain death or near-certain death?” Ri sighed. “Would I ever get to come back? To rejoin the clan?”

“The Grey Wardens would become your new family,” Duncan’s attempt at gentle came across much more heavy-handed than he likely expected. “This is not simply charity on my part. I would not offer this if I did not think you had the makings of a Grey Warden. Let me be clear; you will likely never return here. We go to fight the darkspawn; a battle that will take us from from your clan, but we need you and others like you.”

“Long ago, the Dalish elves agreed to aid the Grey Wardens against a Blight, should that day arrive. We must honour that agreement,” Ri stared at her Keeper, feeling the weight of her words and wondering for a moment quite who the Keeper would have sent should Ri not have gone and tackled a demonic bear. Probably Merrill, she decided. “It breaks my heart to send you away,” the Keeper continued. “As it would to watch you die slowly from this sickness. The potion you drink will stave it off only a little while - I will give you herbs enough for to make it on the road, but your only hope of survival is in fulfilling the duty of your people.”

“Then I shall accept this change in my path and shall treat my new brothers and sisters with the honour and respect due to them,” Ri agreed stiffly.

“I welcome you to the order. It is rare to have a Dalish amongst us, but they have always served with distinction,” Duncan gave a smile, although his eyes didn’t fully echo the sentiment.

“I know you’ll do your clan proud, da’len. Take this ring, it is your heritage and will protect you against the darkness to come,” Keeper Marethari took a wooden ring from her finger and pressed it into Ri’s hand. Carved from a piece of willow, it bore images of foxes and hares and felt a little warm against her skin.

“Thank you, Hahren,” Ri gave a grateful smile.

“A valuable gift,” Duncan approved. “So, are you ready to go?” Ri started, uncomfortable at how quick this was progressing.

“I would like to stay for Tamlen’s rite,” Ri confessed. “Would that be possible?”

“I’m sorry, da’len, the clan move tonight,” Keeper Marethari broke the news, her voice gentle but firm, a familiar warning that her words were final. “Master Paival is preparing his words of remembrance, but he will wait until our first stop to perform the ceremony. Time really is of the essence. I know you two were close; perhaps if you plant a seed on your travels you could conduct your own memorial.” Ri nodded, knowing that to speak would lead to tears, and she didn’t want to cry anymore. It seemed selfish to delay the clan, to risk her old family, because she wasn’t ready yet to join her new one. She finished the cup of drink and looked to her Keeper with sorrow in her eyes.

“I shall strive to be worthy,” she vowed.

 

Oriana Mahariel walked away from her camp and her home with her bow and blades, a re-filled quiver, and one woven bag to her name. The bag contained a light shift dress she could wear when cleaning and mending her armour, as well as the wooden mug and a week’s supply of the leaves, roots, and powders required for her healing draught that should keep her alive until Duncan could provide his cure. They would be moving as fast as she could manage, Duncan explained.

“Due West from here is South Reach. There we can source horses, and we can ride the rest of the way south to Ostagar where our fellow Wardens are camped with King Cailan and his forces, clearing out the gathering darkspawn.”

“And straight into battle?” Ri asked, trying to prepare for the unknown.

“That will depend on the king; we Wardens steer clear of anything political, and our ultimate goal is to defend against darkspawn, but to a degree we do have to obey the rulers of the land. Before we can do that, however, you and the other recruits will need to prepare for the Joining ritual. I’ll send word ahead to have the others made ready, you won’t have enough of your medication to dally long, so we’ll aim to to get on with the Joining shortly after we get there.”

“There are other new recruits?” Ri was intrigued at who else would have signed up for this life, presumably with a little more say in the matter than she had had.

“Two others, assuming they followed the directions I gave them. You will meet them in due time. Let’s make camp here for tonight, tomorrow we’ll be out of the forest and on the road making better time.”

 

Once they had eaten, Ri’s meal heavily laced with fresh elfroot, they settled in the shelter of a large oak tree. A fire crackled gently and it almost felt like home. Ri took herself a short way from the campsite, remaining in Duncan’s view, and knelt on the ground. She laced her fingers through the small plants growing in the open forest, feeling her fingertips dig into the ground.

“O Falon’Din,” she spoke softly, reciting an old elven prayer. “Lethanavir—Friend to the Dead, guide my feet, calm my soul, lead me to my rest. Sleep peacefully, Tam.” Calmly, quietly, she lifted a fallen acorn from the ground and held it in her hand, feeling the warmth of her palm bring the large seed to a warmer temperature. Tenderly she dug a small hole, pressing the acorn down into the earth, then covering it back over.

“Sleep peacefully, Tam,” she spoke to the seed, to the wind, to her fallen lover. They had never been the most obvious of pairings, but ever since that first day the Keeper had pulled them both aside and sent them out hunting there had been an easiness between them. Over time that easiness had become so much more. Now Tamlen was gone, her clan were far away and moving north with the same fervent desperation as she and Duncan would be moving south. Her life as she had known it was over and she was adrift; being pulled by an unknown current.

 

South Reach was, if Duncan was to be believed, a small town. Ri begged to differ. Small was her clan; small was a few dozen people, their scant belongings, and a herd of Halla, if they were lucky. South Reach was enormous. They had been walking for half a day, and the forest had melted away behind them, leaving her feeling uncomfortably exposed. Then the city appeared on the horizon, growing like a mountain, all grey stone and wooden beams, the walls too tall and too close. A word from Duncan admitted them into the walled city and he strolled with confidence and purpose into a busy open area. Receiving no other instructions, Ri simply followed the human around. The large square seemed to be home to an entire legion of merchants all shouting and hawking their wares. Duncan had clearly been here before; he was weaving a complicated path around the outside of the square, dodging blocked paths and steering clear of the more aggressive salespeople until he found the open doorway he was looking for.

Inside a human male sat at a desk, sheaves of a thin white leaf-like substance piled around him. He looked up as the Warden and the recruit entered, giving a thin-lipped smile.

“How may I help?” he asked, his eyes darting briefly over Ri before focusing his attention on Duncan.

“I need a messenger to courier an urgent message to Ostagar,” Duncan’s voice had changed, taking on a deeper, more commanding tone. “Also a quill and parchment upon which to write my message.”

“Ostagar is quite some way,” the human smiled. “You have the gold for this?”

“Your fees will be settled by the King upon receipt of the message,” at Duncan’s word, the salesman let out a sharp laugh.

“Well, that’s certainly a new one. Walk on, friend, don’t make me call my guard.” Duncan raised his hand, holding it out placatingly, showing a large signet ring. As he moved he pulled his cloak aside to show the Warden crest on his breastplate.

“No guard needed, friend. You have my word as Warden-Commander; Ferelden’s Commander of the Grey.” The courier salesman showed an expression of surprise, before lifting a sheet of the parchment and offering it to Duncan.

“Would you like a private room in which to write your message?” he asked.

“That won’t be necessary,” Duncan replied smoothly.

“And,” the vendor continued, his voice lowered, “would your companion be more comfortable waiting in a private room, or in the alienage?”

“No, she would not,” Ri’s brow lifted at the strength of the Warden-Commander’s rebuttal.

“What’s an alienage?” she asked in low tones as Duncan stepped away from the desk, parchment in hand.

“Not a topic of discussion for right now,” came the harsh response. Ri bristled at being dismissed, folding her arms across her chest. Duncan seemed to have nothing further to say, instead turning his focus to writing a hasty letter.

A third human entered the shop, greeting the vendor warmly as he approached the desk. Ri watched with curiosity as they clasped hands and shook, leaning in to embrace and pat one another on the back. It was all so carefully choreographed, Ri wondered where the humans learned this sort of greeting ritual.

“How’s business?” the new customer asked.

“Doing good,” the vendor replied smugly. “Rumour has it the king’s army’s on the move. Lots of to-ing and fro-ing from the arl’s men up here.” Ri glanced over at Duncan to see if he was reacting to the idle gossip, but he was frowning over his letter, seemingly oblivious.

“Good, good. I’m just after the usual, Oren said you’d sent word that it was here.”

“Ah yes, it’s just out back, I’ll go get it.” The vendor came out from behind his desk and scurried out of the room, leaving the customer idly waiting. He glanced around the room and stared openly when he saw he.

“What’s a slip of a thing like you doing so far from the alienage. And with arms too - you truly are lost, aren’t you?” Ri stood still, warring reactions in her head - normally any encounter with humans ended in violence and their whimpering they would stay out of the woods. She had never gone up against one on their own turf. Having no better idea, she remained silent, meeting the man’s gaze and giving him no further response. “Cat got your tongue?” he asked, taking a step toward her. Ri bristled, her eyes flicking quickly to Duncan, and then back to the human. Duncan made no sign of being aware of what was going on. Frustrated, Ri remained motionless, her arms closely folded over her chest. “State your business, elf,” the man spat, clearly getting more frustrated with her silence. “Or I’ll have the city guard escort you back to your place.” Ri was spared having to respond as the vendor returned from the stock room, a large wooden crate in his arms.

“Here y’are Silas,” he announced jovially, unaware of the awkward situation he was disturbing.

“What’s all this about, eh?” he asked gruffly.

“Wardens, so he claims,” the vendor nodded at Duncan.

“She’s pretty tooled up for a fetcher,” the assumption she was an assistant sat poorly with Ri, but she held her tongue, hating that she was in a confined space with these two men.

“You know what they say about the Wardens; they’d take a mabari if it could hold a sword.”

“Probably get a better return on their payment,” the customer chuckled to himself before taking the crate and leaving the shop. Ri shot Duncan another angry look, but the man continued to ignore her, not moving from his spot until he had finished the letter, and even then his first action was to address the vendor.

“Your fastest courier please,” he insisted as he handed over the folded parchment. “This should be handed to the King or Teyrn Loghain. No one else. We will be heading there ourselves and I do not expect to arrive before my message.” Sweeping out of the small room, Duncan strode back into the market, Ri frustratedly following in his shadow.

Once outside, Ri found herself looking around as she hurried after him. Not one of the stall holders were elvhen. More than that, some seemed to be watching her as she passed by. Surprised, she ducked her head, immediately feeling a flush of anger that she be the one to look away. She had known the city elves weren’t truly free of the shemlan city dwellers, but this was a great deal different to what she had expected.

 

Their next, and final, stop was a large stable outside the walled town. Duncan seemed to have no wish to remain in South Reach, and Ri couldn’t see any reason to argue. As interesting as the human settlement was to her, its people made her feel very uncomfortable. This discomfort was compounded as Duncan requested two horses from the stablemaster.

“An elf on a horse?” the barrel-chested man roared, clearly amused. “Last elf I saw on a horse had pinched the thing off some trader; lasted five seconds before he was flung off.” Ri opened her mouth to reply, but Duncan spoke first.

“I will take two horses for the Grey Wardens, mounts fit for the journey to Ostagar, saddled and ready to go,” he demanded.

“As you wish,” the horse master lifted a hand and beckoned a stable hand over. “Make ready the sturdiest of the Forders for the Warden-Commander, and that All-Bred mare for his companion.” Ri glanced quickly to Duncan and saw the smallest hint of a smile cross his face. Determined to stay quiet, if only to avoid shaming her clan and her Keeper, Ri waited, her fists clenched at her side.

 

It took a while for the horses to be made ready. When the stablehand appeared again, Ri felt her mouth dry up as she saw the two large horses up close. They were much bigger than the Halla she was used to riding, and both definitely had flighty looks in their eyes. The larger of the two was a very well built brown creature, its legs, mane and tail a much darker brown. Next to it stood a slightly smaller, which was still to say large in Ri’s eyes, brown and white patched horse. Both bore saddles and reins, and seemed ready to go.

Duncan stepped forward, approaching the side of the brown horse and securing his bag to the back of the saddle using the leather straps attached there. He took Ri’s bag from her hands and affixed it to the other horse, then looked at her expectantly. Ri stepped up to the horse, first letting it sniff at her hand, then patting the side of its neck as she had once done to a Halla. The saddle was, she realised, a long way up, but seemed sturdy, and had good points where she could grab hold, so with a good jump she didn’t think it would be too much trickier than climbing a tree or a particularly sheer side of a crevasse, and she had grown up clambouring about in the forest. Looking the side of the horse up and down twice to gauge the distance, Ri took a step back, then went for it, jumping as she reached her hands to the front and rear of the saddle. It took a fair bit more upper body strength than she had planned for, and likely did not look very elegant, but somehow she pulled herself up onto the horse, settling herself into the saddle. Stifling a grin the stablehand passed the reins over the horse’s head, and suddenly Ri was in control of her own steed.

Mounting with a lot more ease, Duncan gave her one last look, a twinkle of amusement in his eye which irritated Ri, and he nudged his horse to start walking away from the town. Ri squeezed her thighs together gently, hoping that the horse would just want to follow its friend, and that her job would be made easier. She gave a small sigh of relief when the mare started walking in roughly the same direction as Duncan’s had. Maybe this might not be so bad after all. At the very least they would be away from the overbearing humanity of the city.

 

The six days of travel south all seemed to blur into one long and exhausting ordeal. Each day started with the brewing of Keeper Marethari’s cordial, and then consisted of riding until the pain in Ri’s chest got too much, or until she was so tired she was almost asleep in the saddle. Duncan barely spoke, and Ri was happy to be alone with her thoughts. The road was well populated with other travellers, some on foot, some on horseback, some in larger groups with wagons and baggage. It was unlike Dalish travelling - the pace was harder, there were fewer rest stops, and Ri even found herself missing the silly songs the kids would start singing, and the long droning stories Master Paivel would tell. Moving with the Elvhen was always a joyous task, and nothing like this race to almost certain death.

The horse, at least, was a pleasant surprise. As much as Ri found her legs were aching by the end of each day, the horse was very well behaved and barely required any wrangling from its inexperienced rider. Often, at Duncan’s insistence, they would spend a good part of the day trotting, overtaking other travellers in their urgency. This had the frustrating effect of leaving Ri all the more sore and exhausted at the end of each day. By the time she had seen to her horse, and helped to make camp she was already half asleep. Duncan would take first watch, waking her in the middle of the night to take over whilst he slept. There was no time to talk about whatever they were racing toward, let alone the rudeness of the people in South Reach, or the severity of her ailment.

 

“We should reach Ostagar before noon,” Duncan announced to the sunrise one morning. Ri looked up at him from the pot of water she was stirring herbs into over a the residual heat of their dying fire. It was the last helping of the potion the Keeper had made for her, and didn’t seem to be a s much as the previous doses.

“Anything I need to know?” she asked, expecting another day of silence and mystery.

“It’s a large fortress on the edge of the Korcari Wilds,” Duncan explained, using a variety of references Ri had no real connection to. “It’s really more of a battle camp at the moment. King Cailan is there with his armies and advisors. His vassals have been summoned, so more soldiers are arriving every day. Our fellow Wardens are there, what few of us there are. We’re two dozen, but once the immediate threat has been faced we will mount a renewed campaign to increase our numbers. You will need to hit the ground running, once we have performed the Joining ritual we’ll be awaiting the King’s orders.”

“The Joining ritual?” Ri picked up on something Duncan had mentioned a couple of times, but he waved her question away by turning and packing away his bedroll.

“That the last of your tonic? We’re just in time then. Drink up,” he instructed. “We’ve got to get going.”


	4. Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title, Collide, is from the song by James Bay

The word fortress gained new meaning to Ri as she and Duncan approached the huge monolithic gateway that heralded the entryway to Ostagar. Massive stone walls, and stone walkways, which seemed to extend across half of the horizon. Ri barely had chance to take it all in when they were suddenly there in the shadows of the battlements. Duncan had picked up speed once the fortress came into sight. He hailed a watchman as they neared, and made a beeline for the armoured figure.

“Well met, Warden-Commander,” she said, giving a bow of her head. “King Cailan wants to see you as a matter of urgency.”

“Certainly. Have the darkspawn made a move?”

“Not yet, ser, but their numbers increase.”

“I feared that might be so,” Duncan’s voice was grave. “Could you have our horses taken to the Warden camp? We’ll head straight for the King,” he dismounted, offering out the horse’s reins. Ri followed his example, grateful to feel the floor beneath her feet, but a little sad to say goodbye to the trusty creature.

“I’ve already hailed him; he asked to be notified as soon as you returned.” the guard accepted the horses.

“Maker’s blessing,” Duncan gave, before sauntering off into the stone encampment.

“Ho there, Duncan!”

A group of armoured people - all humans, Ri noted - met them not too far into Ostagar. Ri watched with interest as Duncan met a gold-clad warrior with an elegant bearing and tidily coiffed blond hair. Clasping forearms the two men clearly knew each other.

“King Cailan? I didn’t expect-”

“A royal welcome? I was beginning to worry you’d miss all the fun!”

“Not if I could help it, your Majesty.” Listening to the two men, Ri was once more reminded that she was from another world than these men. This sort of jolly macho casual talk in the face of battle was so far from the more practical interactions she was used to hearing from the men and women of her clan.

“Then I’ll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! Glorious! The other Wardens told me you’d sent word of a promising recruit. I take it this is she?” For all of the king’s bluster, Ri couldn’t prevent the corners of her mouth from turning up at the unexpected compliment. Any praise for her was praise for her clan, and she intended to make her Keeper proud.

“Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty.”

“No need to be so formal, Duncan. We’ll be shedding blood together, after all. Ho there, friend! Might I know your name?” Ri gave a polite smile, silently trying to work out whether the king was a complete buffoon, or a genuinely friendly human.

“I am Oriana Mahariel of the Sabrae clan,” she was intent on mentioning her clan’s name whenever possible, lest some human history keeper be around to write it down. The Dalish had no use for written histories; it was a human thing Ri was intent on taking advantage of.

“Pleased to meet you! The Grey Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers, I’m sure you will be a fine new addition. You are Dalish, are you not? I hear your people possess remarkable skill and honour.”

“You know of the Dalish, King Cailan?” Ri asked, astonished.

“I wish I knew more, but your people aren’t exactly fond of mine. For good reason, to my shame. I tell you this; you are very welcome here. The Grey Wardens will benefit greatly with you amongst their ranks.” Ri could feel a warm flush rise to her cheeks at the strong praise, when all she’d really managed to do thus far was to refuse to die. It wasn’t exactly an achievement.

“I’m sorry to cut this short,” Cailan finished as one of his advisors whispered in his ear. “I should return to my tent, Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies.”

“Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week,” Duncan spoke respectfully, but still his tone was that of beleagured parent talking to headstrong child, reminding them of something they already knew.

“Ha!” Cailan laughed at the message. “Eamon just wants in on the glory. We’ve won three battles against these monsters, and tomorrow should be no different,” he beamed at Ri.

“You sound very confident of that,” she pressed, still trying to work the golden man out, whilst trying to get past the revelation that she would be expected to go into battle the day after becoming a Grey Warden. Whatever that really meant.

“Overconfident, some would say. Right, Duncan?” the king chuckled.

“Your Majesty,” Duncan appeared almost a little embarrassed to be called on what was obviously his true opinion. “I’m simply not certain the Blight can be ended quite as quickly as you might wish.”

“I’m not even sure this is a true Blight,” came the quickfire retort. “There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas we’ve seen no sign of an archdemon.”

“Disappointed, your Majesty?” the macho jokes were back as Duncan seemed to have realised his words weren’t hitting home.

“I had hoped for a war like in the tales; a king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god! But I suppose this will have to do. Now, I really must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell.” As the king and his advisors walked away, Ri decided that the man was clearly a buffoon. No one wished for a war, and the inevitable loss of many men and women. Certainly no one could wish for darkspawn to flood the land.

“To camp,” Duncan said, appearing somewhat dejected. “If we’re to wage battle tomorrow then we have much to do with what’s left of today. The king was speaking the truth; they have won several battles against the darkspawn here.”

“He didn’t seem to be taking this all that seriously,” Ri admitted cautiously, aware that this was the king they were discussing.

“True,” Duncan conceded. “I know there is an archdemon behind this, but I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling.”

“Why not? He seems to regard the Grey Wardens highly,” Ri puzzled, trying to keep up with Duncan’s longer strides as they started walking in the same direction the king had taken.

“Yet not enough to wait for reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais. He believes our legend alone makes him invulnerable. Our numbers here in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference. We should have two other new recruits, as well as yourself, so we should hurry and proceed with the Joining ritual today if we’re to be fighting tomorrow.”

“What is this ritual? You keep mentioning it, what do we have to do?”

“Hmm, I thought I had said. Every recruit must go through a secret ritual we call the Joining in order to become a Grey Warden. The Joining is what will cure you of the suffering your tainted blood will bring if left unchecked. If it had been possible I would have done it before we set off, but I have a few things to sort out before we can proceed, and it really ought to be carried out for all three of you together.”

“But it will be soon?” Ri asked, very aware she only had a little dust left from the herbal mix her Keeper had provided.

“Very soon,” they had crossed a long stone bridge, and stood at the edge of a busy campsite. The king had already disappeared into the crowds. “I shall start to make preparations. Feel free to have a quick look around, familiarise yourself with the camp, and if you could ask around and see if you can find a Warden named Alistair. I shall find our other two new recruits and meet you back at the Warden mess. Alistair will be able to lead you to it.” Ri’s eyes widened at the thought of finding anyone in a place as busy as this, let along finding someone she had never met.

“Will do,” she accepted the challenge with an unexpected burst of confidence. If she could find rabbits in the middle of a hard winter, she could certainly find one of two dozen Grey Wardens in this heaving mass of people. Duncan disappeared quickly into the action, and so Ri did the only logical thing; she approached the nearest soldier.

“Well met,” she attempted casual formality.

“New here?” he saw through her immediately, so she nodded. “This place hasn’t seen such bustle in centuries, I’ll wager. Need a hand getting anywhere?”

“Yes, please,” Ri returned, gratefully. “I’m looking for a Grey Warden named Alistair.”

“Ah, that guy,” the soldier chuckled. “Try heading north. I think he was sent with a message to the mages.”

“Thanks,” Ri smiled. “North it is.”

A quick glance at the midday sun gave her a hint as to where north was, so Ri started working her way through the maze of tents and campfires. There appeared to be some sort of design to the layout, with all the bigger and fancier tents in one central location, and the smaller, plainer tents radiating outward from there. Every so often a bigger structure leapt up; many of these appeared to be makeshift stables. Ri continued her stroll, looking with interest at the various craftsmen and women she found sitting outside of small tent-based workshop, making crossbow bolts, sharpening swords, or hammering the dents out of armour.

“You there! Elf!” it was only at the second shout that Ri suspected the raised voice might be aimed at her. She turned to see a human male, older than many of the soldiers she had seen so far, and looking to be at the end of his tether. He met her eyes in confirmation that she was the subject of his shout. Reluctantly she moved closer. “Where is my armour?” he demanded as she closed the distance between them. “And why are you dressed so preposterously?”

“I beg your pardon?” Ri folded her arms across her chest as she regarded the man. “I think you’re mistaking me for one of your servants,” several other elves scurried about carrying wares; elves likely taken from the cities of Ferelden, based on their deferential behaviour.

“You’re not one of-”

“I am Warden-Recruit Mahariel,” she cut in, using her most officious voice. “Newly of the Grey Wardens, and not to be confused with the flat-ears you have enslaved.”

“They- they get a wage,” the man stammered. “I mean, please forgive my rudeness! There are so many elves running about, and I’ve been waiting for- it’s simply been so hectic! I never thought- please excuse my manners! I am just the quartermaster, a simple man-”

“Perhaps you should treat your servants with a little respect,” Ri sniped. “Then you would avoid this sort of situation in future.”

“Yes, yes of course,” the Quartermaster acquiesced. Ri gave a firm nod, attempting to channel her Keeper.

“Very good,” she declared.

“Did you come for some supplies, perhaps?”

“Hmm? Supplies? No, not at the minute, I’m looking for another Warden, Alistair?”

“Oh, of course,” that this man also immediately recognised the name made Ri wonder what was going on. It was a large camp, for everyone to know this one Warden meant he was either well renowned, or was memorable for less auspicious reasons. “He went that way about ten minutes ago, something about a mage.” Ri looked in the direction the man had pointed, then back at him.

“Many thanks,” she gave, lacing her words with heavier meaning to try to drive home the old adage that manners cost nothing.

A large wooden structure stood in her path, and as Ri approached it, trying to decide whether to turn left or right to pass it, she heard a loud shout and a heartwrenching animal yelp of pain.

“You little fucker,” the angry shout was followed up by an irate voice.

“I can handle him, Ser Kelvin,” a lower voice joined in. Ri hurried closer, seeing several large dogs in what appeared to be wooden pens. “You go get that hand looked at, I’ll see to the hound.”

“Only one way to ‘see to’ a hound like that. I ought to put it down myself.”

“It won’t last the night,” the lower voice finished. Ri rounded the building to watch as a haughty soldier stalked away, holding his hand close to his chest. A worried looking woman, her greying hair bound in a tight bun, and her leather armour spattered with blood. Ri gave a tentative smile of greeting, whilst attempting to peer in the pen. A low whimpering sound was emanating from what appeared to be a rather large dog, its skin mottled with battle paint and crusted blood.

“Can I help you?” the woman snapped, her voice belying a combination of irritation and exhaustion.

“I was just looking for the Grey Warden Alistair,” Ri confessed, hoping the well-known name might garner her some favour.

“You one of the new Wardens?” the woman asked?

“Yes, Ri Mahariel,” Ri gave freely.

“Kari Greenway, kennel mistress here at Ostagar. I could use some of your assistance, if you’ve a moment.”

“Certainly, what’s the problem?” Ri stepped closer to the pen, looking through the slats at the dog’s giant face, its long tongue hanging out as it panted rapidly.

“This is one of our war hounds, mabari to give them their true names. She was injured in the last battle, poor thing swallowed some darkspawn blood, now she’s in quite a bit of pain,” feeling an instant kinship with the beast Ri crouched beside the pen and met it’s eyes. “I do have medicine that could help with the pain, but she’s not letting me get close enough to treat her. Ideally I would want a muzzle on her; dogs like this lash out when they’re in pain.”

“Wouldn’t anyone?” Ri said thoughtfully. “If you can keep her focused, I could try to slip the muzzle on her.”

“You would do that? That would be a great help.”

“I know a thing or two about darkspawn poisoning, I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.” Ri took the proffered muzzle and walked to the side of the pen as the kennel mistress headed towards the mabari’s face. She dug around in a bucket and pulled out some scraps of meat, which she tossed through the fence. The mabari showed a little interest in the food. Ri climbed the pen wall, dropping down lightly beside the dog. The creature was much larger up close, Ri almost thought it large enough to ride. She kept close to the pen wall, reaching in quickly to pull the muzzle over the hound’s mouth and nose.

“Sorry girl,” she crooned as if she were coaxing a shy halla. “This will help, you’ll be alright.” She lay the palm of her hand on the dog’s shoulder, feeling it tense up, and then give up, the darkspawn poisoning working too fast and weakening the strong beast.

“Many thanks, you might just have given this dog a chance to fight this. Although I don’t quite have everything I need for the treatment. I don’t suppose you’re going out into the Wilds any time soon?”

“I don’t know,” Ri admitted, climbing back out of the pen. “I can ask; if it’s for the war effort then I might be able to get out there. What do you need?”

“There’s a herb, a flower, grows round here. All white but for the deep red centre. It’s proven pretty good at treating our dogs, but we’re all out of it. such has been the demand.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ri was hesitant to make any promises she couldn’t keep, but the parallels between her and the dog were too blindingly obvious that she couldn’t simply walk away.

“Good, in the meantime I’ll keep her as comfortable as I can.”

“Does she have a name?” Ri asked.

“Not as such,” the kennel mistress sighed. “Her previous handler referred to her as ‘Bitch’, which says more about his temperament than hers. You want to come up with something better?”

“Anything would be better than that,” Ri scowled. “How about Mustela?”

“That will do,” a small smile crossed the woman’s face.

“I’ll try to get back with the flower,” Ri said earnestly, “I have to go find this Alistair guy now, but I’ll come back.”

White stone ramps led up to a small partially walled off area. Ruins, but not like the ominous caves Ri had been in. These were walkways, the walls were taller than half a dozen shemlans standing on one another’s shoulders. Statues of figures holding shields reminded anyone who dared to look up high that this was a military stronghold. The walkways were wider than some of the roads Ri and Duncan had ridden on to get here, their paving chipped and stained with time and disuse. The ruins of Ostagar made little sense to Ri; a series of inclines, courtyards, and walls which seemed to be held up by nothing more than sheer willpower.

In the midst of this maze of bright white stonework, Ri heard raised voices and, at the mention of Grey Wardens, decided to move closer.

“What is it now?” the first voice demanded angrily. “Haven’t Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?”

“I simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, ser mage. She desires your presence.” The second voice was placating, perhaps with an undertone of dry humour.

“What her Reverence ‘desires’ is of no concern to me! I am busy helping the Grey Wardens - by the King’s orders, I might add!”

“Should I have asked her to write a note?” the second voice was definitely teasing.

“Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!” Ri frowned, lacking context, as she was, this conversation seemed quite odd; the two men could not have been more mismatched in attitude if they had tried.

“Yes, I was harassing you by delivering a message,” she drew closer, rising up one last stone ramp and loitering at the top, maintaining what she determined was a respectful distance, regardless of how well their voices were travelling in this stone maze. She could see the two figures; one gowned in mage robes, the other in metal armour, his red-blond hair cropped short like a soldier.

“Your glibness does you no credit,” the robed mage snapped.

“Here I thought we were getting along so well,” the soldier quipped. “I was even going to name one of my children after you… the grumpy one,” a low chuckle escaped Ri’s mouth, not quite low enough to escape attention. The mage turned his steely glare on her. Flushing in embarrassment, she ducked her head.

“Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must, lest she send even more of you cretins to hound me.” With the swooshing of many layers of fabric, the mage stalked off, holding his head high and refusing to even look at Ri as he passed. This, she decided, was quite the mercy - it wasn’t a great idea to be getting on the bad side of the magic users. Shaking her head to clear the smile from her lips, Ri looked at the soldier and decided that the silver and blue material under his plate mail was close enough to the Warden colours that he was probably her target. She stepped out of the entrance to the courtyard and walked forward to meet him.

“You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together,” another joke fell from the young human’s lips. Ri focused on lifting her brows instead of smirking. His lightness reminded her of the gentle banter she had enjoyed with her fellow elves; a very bittersweet memory given that she would likely never see them again.

“You are a very strange human,” Ri declared, not wanting to fully compliment the human for his elvhen traits.

“You’re not the first to tell me that,” the soldier replied lightly. “Wait, we haven’t met, have we? I don’t suppose you happen to be another mage?” Ri let out an actual laugh at this question. Even among the elves of her clan, where there wasn’t such a variation in clothing, it was easy to tell the mages from the more mundane members of society.

“I suppose the bow could be a staff in disguise,” she mused. “Nah, don’t worry - I’m no mage.”

“Whew,” the man grinned. “A reprieve from being yelled at for a moment. Though, the day is still young. Wait-” a small frown, then a broad smile crossed his face. “I do know who you are! You’re Duncan’s new recruit; the Dalish!”

“I prefer to go by Oriana, or Ri,” she smiled. “And you’re Alistair,” the confirmation probably wasn’t needed, but Ri did like to make things clear, especially when there were so many humans around. Not many like this one, at least so far.

“Did Duncan mention me?” Alistair asked eagerly. “Nothing bad I hope?”

“He sent me to find you, he’s getting the other recruits and we’re to meet back at the Warden camp, wherever that is.”

“Of course,” Alistair nodded, a little less buoyant now they were getting to business. “I’ll show you the way back. As the junior member of the order, I’ll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining.” They started walking back through the stoneworks, talking companionably as they did.

“Ah yes, this illusive Joining ritual,” Ri rolled her eyes. “I don’t suppose you’re going to shed any light on it.”

“'Fraid not,” Alistair shrugged. “If we told people what it entailed no one would want to try it in the first place.”

“You’d be surprised what people would do to avoid almost certain death,” Ri said drily.

“That sounds like a story I want to hear.”

“Help me get out into the Wilds this afternoon and I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Ri asked beseechingly.

“You’re not going to run away, are you?” A sudden panic in the soldier’s voice brought a quick burst of laughter from Ri.

“No chance of that,” she admitted. “I met the kennelmistress as I was looking for you; she’s got a sick mabari and needs some herbs from out there in order to give it a chance.”

“You met Kari? And got more than two words out of her?” Alistair’s voice was filled with surprise. “Maybe you are a mage after all!”

“Not guilty,” Ri returned. “You’ll help me?”

“I will do everything within my power to help you,” he declared, his words vague, but the emphasis behind them seemed honest enough.

“Thank you.”

“Have you met the other recruits yet?” Alistair moved the subject on as they descended the final ramp from the fortress structure to the flatter expanse of the campsite.

“No, we just got here when Duncan was met by the king, sounds like things are going to get a bit hairy tomorrow, so for that, and other reasons, we’re moving quickly. He sent me straight to find you.”

“I see. Well, we’ll be back to camp soon enough, I’d be interested in your thoughts on the other two - anyone who can get past Kari’s prickly exterior has got to have a good judge of character.” Ri frowned, sure she was missing something, but not well versed in the multiple layers of double-speak the humans seemed to favour.

“That argument I saw,” she pushed off on a tangent. “With the mage. What was it about? Can I ask that? Or is that another secret?”

“Not a secret,” Alistair shook his head. “Well, not a well kept one, at least. The Circle is here at the king’s request, and the Chantry doesn’t like that one bit. They just love letting mages know how unwelcome they are. Which all puts me in a bit of an awkward position, you see, because I was once a templar.” Ri immediately regretted asking the question. So much of his explanation made no sense to her, giving her the uncomfortable reminder that she was an outsider, unfamiliar in so many shemlan things.

“What’s a templar?” she asked, over-riding her momentary anger at her own ignorance, in favour of seeking answers.

“You don’t know?” Alistair seemed more curious about her lack of knowledge than mocking. “Quick version then; the Chantry tries to control mages because they’re dangerous, so they keep templars that train to hunt down and kill apostates. That’s what I was being trained as when Duncan recruited me six months ago.” Ri felt her mouth dry up and a chill spread over her skin that had nothing to do with the dark brokenness the darkspawn her left in her chest. Apostate was a new word on her, but it was clear what Alistair was saying - his job was going to be the methodical slaughtering of people like Keeper Marethari, people like Merrill, the kindest and most conscientious of all the elvhen in the Sabrae clan.

“I’m sure the revered mother meant it as an insult, sending me as her messenger, and the mage picked right up on that,” Alistair the trainee mage-killer was continuing to talk, seemingly unaware of the effect his words were having on her. “I never would have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan says we’re all to cooperate and get along. Apparently they didn’t get the same speech,” he chuckled, but Ri remained silent. Her mind was filled with retorts she wanted to make; that she would already be dead were it not for free mages, that her brothers and sisters were amongst the people that he would have killed had he kept on that path, that she couldn’t understand why he would have decided to become a templar in the first place. Instead she kept quiet, reminding herself that her immediate future survival relied on this confusing young human, as well as the future of Mustela the dying mabari. Her only hope was in getting prepared for this secretive Joining and then surviving this Blight-that-might-not-be-a-Blight-but-was-almost-definitely-a-Blight. After that she might be able to speak her mind.

The Warden campsite was little more than several benches around a massive pyre. Bedecked in blue and silver, and the elaborate Warden crest,a small cluster of Warden-marked tents lay beyond it, with a variety of people milling around not too different to the rest of the army camp. Duncan stood near the pyre, two shemlan males before him.

“Ah, Oriana, you found Alistair did you? Good, let’s get on with the necessary preparations.” Duncan was in Warden-Commander mode, and it was interesting to Ri to see how Alistair immediately looked to the man, very soldier-like in his deference. “That’s assuming, of course, that you’re quite finished riling up mages, Alistair.” A rosy pink hue crept over the ex-trainee-templar’s cheeks.

“What can I say? The revered mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army.”

“She forced you to sass the mage, did she? We cannot afford to antagonise anyone, Alistair. We don’t need to give anyone more ammunition against us.” Alistair nodded contritely, his jovial nature diminished after the dressing down. “Now, to get on with things. Alistair, introductions are in order for our new sister and brothers.”

“Of course,” the cowed Warden looked between the three new recruits. Ri followed his eyes, noting immediately that all three of them appeared to be older than Alistair. This would be a good test of his capabilities; trying to lead the three of them in whatever this mysterious ritual comprised of.

“This is Ser Jory, a knight from Redcliffe,” he started, pointing to a barrel-chested knight in some rather fine armour.

“Well met,” Jory spoke in the clipped tones of the city dwellers. Ri’s thoughts drifted momentarily to the foul man she had avoided meeting at the dog pens. Jory didn’t appear to be cruel and angry, but she decided to reserve judgement, just in case.

“And this here is Daveth, a… fellow from Denerim,” Alistair’s hesitation was very telling at the social gap between the two men.

“Charmed,” the wiry man gave a thin smile, raising his brows as he met Ri’s eyes as if identifying a common ground between them in their both being of a lower standing than Jory. Ri remained as impassive as she could; finding very little common ground with any of these human men from their unnatural cities, with their constrictive lives and rules.

“And this, of course, is Oriana, newly arrived today.”

“Hello,” she said, unsure of what was expected of her.

“Good,” Duncan took over. “You four will be heading into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks.” Ri’s eyes widened and she looked at Alistair to glean whether or not he had been aware of this. He met her eyes and gave the smallest of nods, which she took as his confirming that she could perform her task of help for the kennel mistress. “The first task is to obtain three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each of you.”

“Blood?” Daveth questioned it, speaking the question Ri was wondering.

“For the Joining itself. I’ll explain more once you’ve returned.” Alistair’s face remained annoyingly devoid of emotion as Duncan spoke. Any hope Ri had had of working out what was awaiting them was quickly dashed.

“And the second task?” she asked.

“There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds; abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts. It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them. Alistair, you know the location; I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can.” The Warden nodded in acquiescence.

“Find the archive and collect the blood,” he repeated, showing that he understood their tasks.

“The scrolls contain treaties promising support. Treaties that may prove valuable in the days to come,” Duncan added further context, making it clear that the treaties weren’t an optional task. “Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly and safely.”

“We will,” Alistair vowed.

“Then may the Maker watch over your path. I will see you when you return.”

“Is everybody ready?” Alistair addressed the trio of new recruits. “No time like the present, and whatnot.”

“Lead on,” Ri said, impatient to get going, and acutely aware that the closer it got to nightfall the more she would struggle as the last of her healing potion from the Keeper would wear off; the dark pit in her chest was already starting to pulse; little prickles of pain tingling as they emanated along her ribs. Alistair gave the smallest slip of a smile at his team, then started walking toward the edge of the camp. Ri followed with a degree more enthusiasm than Jory and Daveth.


	5. Game of Survival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some gruesome fighting, and a little sweary language in this one.
> 
> Title is taken from a song by Ruelle

A word from Alistair and the gatekeeper released them from the safety of camp with the strictest of warnings that they be back before nightfall. They set out at a brisk pace, quickly putting space between them and the relative safety of camp. Ri felt the familiar darkness settling in her chest as she walked; the sensation of something pressing against her ribcage as if it were trying to work its way out. Alistair had handed them each two delicate glass vials, explaining that they had a back up in case they broke the first. Ri kept dropping her hand to the pockets of her belt usually reserved for healing potions or poisons, checking the bottles were still there, still intact.

“Don’t suppose any of you have fought darkspawn before?” Alistair asked lightly as they strolled through open woodland, their path heading downward. Jory and Daveth shook their heads, not even bothering to look at Ri. She didn’t care too much, grabbing a handful of leaves from an elfroot plant as she passed it, then popping one leaf in her mouth. The rest went into a pocket with the glass vials

“Several,” she shrugged, chewing on the refreshing herb. “Just a few days ago. Wasn’t a big deal,” the last bit was clearly a lie, but it provoked a reaction in the other two recruits. Alistair started, as if just remembering that was the case. “I mean, I really ought to be dead right now,” she added quickly, to restore the gravity to the situation. “They’re nasty buggers.”

“Any tips to pass on to your fellow recruits?” Alistair prompted.

“Hit hard and fast, and if any of them look like a demon bear, get out of its way,” she gave a shrug, unsure what else to say about it. Neither of the men responded, the mood changing as they rounded a corner and all four adventurers caught sight of a large number of wolves, seven, maybe eight - it was hard to distinguish one from another. They were crowded around something, mostly distracted, but one looked up and spotted their approach. Ri felt her blood run cold; wolves out in the day time hadn’t boded so well for her the previous time she had encountered them, and the snarling sound that arose in terrifying chorus only compounded that sense of unease.

“Get ready,” she hissed.

“Just wave your arms about,” Jory said dismissively. “We’re not here for the local fauna.”

“These are no normal wolves,” Alistair agreed with Ri. “They’ve likely eaten something contaminated by the darkspawn. Weapons up,” to Ri’s great displeasure, her so-called brothers immediately obeyed their Warden chaperone only moments after ignoring her.

Venting her fury, and determined to show her worth, Ri lifted her bow, noticing the men standing their ground and wanting to scream at them that they were going to get her killed if they didn’t give any thought to the necessary battle strategies when travelling with an archer. Her first arrow hit the lead wolf right between the eyes, dropping it to the ground immediately.

“Give me some space,” she shouted. “I need range, you have to meet the enemy-” her words trailed off as the wolves reached them, rendering the point moot. Scowling, Ri leapt sideways, finding purchase on a fallen log. Still too close to the fighting, at least this put the men between her and the enemy. Alistair, at least, had stepped forwards, she saw as she loosed her bow, wounding the flank of the wolf the former-templar swung his sword toward. Ri lifted her aim a little, sending a steady spray of arrows into the slower wolves as the three melee fighters took on the closest ones. As she looked past the wolves she noticed that the object they had been clustered around appeared to be a person, human most likely due to the size. They were attempting to crawl away, but one of the wolves was holding back from the fight, worrying at the fallen man. Ri decided her colleagues had the dwindling pack covered, so she mounted her bow on her back, grabbed her swords, and jumped from the log, racing forwards and round the battle, jabbing out at one wolf as she passed, but not engaging it. She heard one of the men shout after her, but ignored the voice; there was no time to explain and she definitely didn’t want to draw the wolves’ attention.

The lone wolf wasn’t expecting her, so she managed to deal a hefty amount of damage in just a few blows of her curved knives, aiming for the throat, whilst keeping behind it. The wolf yowled in pain, trying to turn to attack her, but Ri danced backwards, leading it away from the downed soldier whilst jabbing at it furiously. When it lunged she was ready for it, sidestepping and stabbing her knives through its neck, bringing the creature finally to its end.

“Alistair!” she called, seeing the three men surrounded by a pile of corpses, catching their breath. “There’s a survivor,” she crouched beside the soldier as her comrades joined her. The human - Ri contained her frustration at being firmly in a world dominated by human men - seemed to be injured, but alive. A nasty gash on his leg needed attention, and he was clearly weak, but there was still colour to his face, and he seemed clean of blood other than his own.

“Who’s that?” he croaked painfully. “Grey Wardens?”

“We’ve got you,” Alistair murmured, helping the man sit up. “What happened?”

“My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn,” the man gasped. “They came out of the ground. I’ve got to return to camp - the wolves came out of nowhere.”

“Should we help get him back?” Ri asked, not wanting to delay their mission, but at the same time not wanting to leave the man out there to be devoured by the next passing darkspawn-crazed wolves.

“If you just bandage me up,” the man groaned. “I can get back myself.”

“I’ve got bandages in my pack,” Alistair started rummaging.

“Here,” Ri pressed three elfroot leaves into the wounded soldier’s hand. “Eat one now, it won’t do a lot, but it’ll take the edge off. The other two should get you back to the gates, it’s not far.” It felt very strange, giving aid to a human, Ri was far more used to running them out of the forest. She supposed this was her life now; working with others. It wasn’t particularly something she relished the idea of.

With some help the man was lifted to his feet. Daveth sought out a sturdy branch for him to lean on, and the four Wardens stood uneasily for a moment, watching him limp away. Ser Jory looked the most shaken up, Daveth almost looked as if he were enjoying himself, and Alistair just looked anxious to get on.

“Did you hear?” Jory said shakily, preventing the group from returning to their tasks. “An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!”

“Calm down, Ser Jory,” Alistair attempted reason. “We’ll be fine if we’re careful.”

“Those soldiers were careful, and they were still overwhelmed. How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There’s an entire army lurking around out here in these Maker-forsaken Wilds.”

“There are darkspawn about, but we’re in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde,” Alistair’s calm certainty turned even Ri’s caution into doubt.

“How do you know?” Jory demanded. “I’m no coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should go back.”

“We need to get the treaties,” Ri spoke up, remembering what she reasoned to be the key part of their mission. “Seems like a great many lives could come to rest on those.”

“I still do not relish the thought of encountering an army,” Jory sulked.

“Know this; all Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I can guarantee they won’t take us by surprise. That’s why I’m here with you,” Alistair explained. Daveth laughed, a dry chuckle from behind the group. Ri turned to face him.

“You see, ser knight? We might die, but we’ll be warned about it first. Now buck up, we’re on a countdown. Just follow the Warden and he’ll keep you safe.” Jory frowned, unable to find a retort.

“I’m not going to make this easy on you,” Alistair finished, spinning the mood back toward hopelessness. “Let’s get a move on; this way.”

 

“So you’re our darkspawn expert?” Daveth had found a place beside Ri as they walked. His voice was hushed, but even so Ri caught sight of Alistair glancing back at them, his attention quickly returning to the path ahead.

“Far from expert,” Ri admitted freely. “Unless being almost killed by a bunch of them counts for something.”

“Almost killed is a far leap from fully killed,” Ri smiled at the faint compliment.

“True,” she conceded. “What’s your area of expertise then?”

“Almost not getting caught picking the Warden-Commander’s purse,” Daveth replied easily, without a jot of shame at confessing his crimes. Ri bit back a laugh and giving a slip of an approving smile to the man.

“Always a worthy skill,” she smirked. “Between your sleight of hand and my stellar constitution this Blight has a lot to fear.”

“You might as well stand back whilst we handle it all, Jory,” Daveth raised his voice a little. “I see you listening in. What do you bring to this motley crew?”

“I was chosen to be here for my skills in combat,” Jory replied sniffily. “The Warden-Commander saw me at a tournament and requested that I join.” At the pompous declaration, Ri and Daveth looked at one another, both raising their brows in unison.

“Well, we are amongst lofty company. I shall endeavour to raise my game suitably, take heed, Oriana, we walk amongst heroes and giants.” Daveth mocked eloquently. Ri smiled, half-tempted to speak aloud about how their young guide had been training to be a murderer of free mages, but before she could form the damning statement of fact into a witty quip she had second thoughts. After only a short exposure to the shemlan world she had already gained some idea of how the humans still kept her flat-eared cousins impoverished and in serving positions, it was entirely probable that all three of these men saw her as something less than them; less worthy and less deserving. Damning Alistair for his Templar training might not be the wisest of moves in such company. She would have to wait and see what the mage population of the two dozen Wardens was, if any, and work out her position from that starting point.

Thankfully the nervous banter was ended as Alistair abruptly stopped, one hand clenched in a fist and raised to his shoulder height. Ri immediately slowed her pace, coming to a halt a few paces behind him and awaiting instructions.

“That way, down toward the pools, a small raiding group,” Ri looked in the direction he had gestured. The sparse landscape had barely enough trees to provide any real cover, but the ground jutted up and down in sudden crags and valleys that made her old home in the forest seem positively smooth. It looked as though there were some natural paths to traverse the dramatically structured landscape; as an alternative to that longer, gentler pawprint-covered path there appeared to be the more riskier direct route of clambering down from a rocky outcrop.

“I suggest we let the archer get a good vantage point,” Daveth said, shooting Ri a knowing wink.

“I can get to the top of the cliff, there,” she gestured.

“And we storm round the long route,” Jory finished, his tone suggesting he wanted to argue, but had come up with nothing better.

“Very good,” Alistair gave nothing away. “When they’re down we get the blood, then head for the treaties. No point in being out here longer than we need.” Ri stuffed two elfroot leaves into her mouth, chewing them quickly and feeling the burst of freshness cut through the cloying darkness. She walked away from the three men, creeping to the edge of the rocks, where the world dropped away.

 

A group of three darkspawn were gathered below. Two genlocks and a hurlock, Ri silently elaborated, remembering the scant knowledge Duncan had shared on their journey. The genlocks were the smaller demons, often armed with knives and makeshift blades, but the further into a Blight, the more likely they might pick up a bow or a mage’s staff and become proficient. Twice as tall, and much broader, were the hurlocks. This one looked as if its skin were made of metal, clad in discarded human-sized armour already dented and blood spattered. The axe it held was almost certainly taller than any of the humans Ri had met, and likely weighed as much as a man in armour. Ri took a deep breath, summoning the memory of Tamlen’s last panicked screams, and the pain of her chest as the bereskarn had stood over her. She could feel the hot breath, could smell the stench of death and decay.

She shook her head, clearing her mind, then shot a glance to her right which showed her that the men were out of her sight, and would soon be reaching the lower elevation. She didn’t want the enemy to be drawn away, so she lifted her bow, taking aim at the genlock furthest from her fellow Warden’s approach. Silently the arrow shot through the air, catching the beast in the neck. With a warbling cry it fell to its knees, whilst the other two darkspawn reacted; looking around in a methodical search for their attacker. Ri kept still, trusting her green and brown armour and clothing to keep her somewhat camouflaged. Her dark hair was tied back, her skin almost the same tone as the leather breast plate she wore. As the two foes looked away from her, Ri acted quickly, loosing two more arrows in quick succession into the downed enemy, wanting to claim her prize as well as beating the other two new recruits to the first kill. Once the genlock had stopped moving, Ri sent her next arrow straight into the foot of the hurlock, temporarily immobilising it as the three blade-wielding men arrived on the scene. Watching for a moment, Ri saw three very different fighting styles; Daveth was first in, definitely the fastest on his feet. He had a shortsword in each hand, the dual blades further sharpening Ri’s memories of Tamlen and his preferred weapons. Daveth darted between the hurlock and the genlock with almost impossible speed, stabbing and stabbing again before dancing away to reassess and plan his next attack.

Alistair came next, for all that he was supposed to be letting them lead. His fighting seemed a little awkward; longsword in one hand and shield in the other. If Daveth was dancing, then Alistair was doing a poor imitation. His footwork was wooden, rather than meeting the darkspawn, it was as if he were still sparring against tree trunks, or however templars practiced fighting, and although every blow landed, there was clear room for improvement. For the first time Ri wondered just how old he was, he seemed in many ways to be like the younger elvhen; just starting to learn how to fight, hunt, and make eyes at prospective lovers. It was almost endearing, except when placing it alongside the unforgettable fact that his kind wanted to kill those she had once held dearest. Ri had never heard of templars raiding Dalish camps, but she imagined they would if they could; wanting to smite uncollared mages. She cleared her emotions as she watched Alistair swing at the hurlock, his sword finding a gap in its armour and unleashing a spray of the toxic blood which already sat in Ri’s chest, haunting her every breath.

Finally, tall and awkward Jory lumbered in. He swung his greatsword with both hands, crushing the genlock in one quick blow. Ri wondered exactly what tournament he had won. He had the brute strength and control of his weapon, but there was no form, no finesse. He turned, thrusting his greatsword at the hurlock almost clumsily, but between his strength and the sword’s weight, the blow connected and the hurlock stumbled. Ri found a break in the fight long enough to send an arrow into the creature’s chest, causing it to stagger, its hammer coming crashing down on empty ground, rather than onto Daveth’s head as he made his next approach. Ri watched, impressed by the man’s ability to nimbly step around the fallen hammer getting into place to stab up into the creature’s gut, then dancing round once more to slash at its hamstrings.

The hurlock fell with a thump, already dying as the three men piled on with their blades. Ri left her perch, running around the long way to approach the site of the skirmish without having to rappel down the lethally smooth stone face. Daveth and Jory were already crouching either side of the hurlock, catching its thick dark blood in each of their two vials. Ri hurried to catch up, picking the genlock she had felled, and taking her station beside it. She pulled out the three arrows, not happy with the state of them, but preferring to have chipped or bent arrows rather than none at all. Ri retrieved the two glass vials from her belt and used the tip of one arrow to scoop the viscous liquid into the container.

“Mission successful,” she heard Daveth announce.

“Only the first part,” she corrected, just as Alistair said “Not quite.”

“Alright smartie,” Daveth chuckled, drawing closer to her position, and offering up the arrow from the hurlock’s chest.

“Thanks,” she returned, accepting his hand as she rose to her feet, then taking the arrow and adding it to her quiver.

“Back at you for leaving a couple for us slowcoaches,” he gave a knowing smile as if Ri had done something deliberately generous.

“I wouldn’t want to make it easy for you,” she smiled, a moment passing before she realised she was almost parroting what Alistair had told them earlier. The blunder hadn’t gone unnoticed, she realised, as she looked over to meet Alistair’s eyes and found an expression of amused curiosity on his face. “Where to next?” she asked, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance, but feeling the warmth rising in her cheeks. Alistair’s eyes widened, questioning her eager attitude but, to her relief, he saw fit to keep his thoughts to himself.

“This way, through the lakes, then there should be a bridge, and the road leads on to the outpost.”

“Sounds a breeze,” Daveth declared, his blades remaining firmly in hand. Jory stood still, staring in open horror at the fallen darkspawn, a definite tremor to the hand that wasn’t holding onto his weapon. Ri supposed she ought to say something comforting, but there wasn’t really anything that could be said in the face of such evil.

“It gets easier,” Alistair’s voice - sombre now, proving he wasn’t solely teetering between dry wit and carefree ease. “The first time I saw them-” he shuddered. “It does get easier. We really should get going, they’re all over the Wilds, and we need to be back before dark otherwise we’ll end up falling in one pool or other.”

 

“You seem to be taking this remarkably well,” Ri muttered to Daveth as they took up their place at the back of the small convoy.

“What, that demons are roaming the shittiest parts of the countryside, that we’re about to face a Blight that only we Wardens can see coming, and that I’m covered in the vilest stinking blood that I probably won’t ever be able to properly wash off?” he gave a light shrug. “Just another day, really.” Ri fixed him with an inquiring gaze, trying to find something real behind the armour of jokes and humour.

“Sure,” she left it at that. “Where’d you learn to fight?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re back at camp,” there was a pleading element to his words, and Ri gave a solemn nod. She had forgotten, for just a moment, that she wasn’t racing round with her clanmates. When exploring the forests with Fenarel and Tamlen she had found herself speaking every truth that entered her mind. They all did it; sharing their secrets as easily as they shared the bounties they found in the forests. Everything belonged to the clan, and those that had grown up together shared their very souls without a second thought.

Lips clamped shut against asking any more unwelcomed questions, Ri kept her eyes on the back of Alistair’s head, waiting for further instructions. She felt something warm against her hand and looked down to see Daveth brush his knuckle over hers, each of their hands holding tight to weaponry, half gloved in leather with only the slightest bit of skin bared.

“Tonight, I promise,” he spoke quietly but earnestly. “A blazing fire, a bowl of something warm, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

A smile spread over Ri’s lips and a warmth rose in her heart, bringing a moment of relief from the ever present ache of the poisoning that was slowly sucking her life force. She frowned, then retrieved the last of her elfroot from her pocket and started chewing it.

“You hurt?” Daveth asked.

“Not exactly,” she couldn’t think of a better way of explaining it than the truth. “Darkspawn bear creature almost killed me, is killing me. Cut me up pretty bad, blood everywhere - its and mine. Then a tainted elvhen mirror infected me with some darkspawn plague. Duncan said the Joining would cure me. Or rather, he didn’t say that. He deliberately said nothing about this Joining malarkey, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to die tonight unless I do whatever Duncan and Alistair tell me to,” it was easier to be flippant about this than to give in to the fear that constantly threatened to consume her, so Ri gave Daveth a broad smile. “I’ll stick around long enough to grill you on every single aspect of your life, I promise.”

“Well now, I really don’t know what to say to that,” Daveth breathed after a moment’s silence, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. Ri’s heart sank a little. The idea of an evening spent in the company of someone who had the beginning of an idea of what she was going through had done wonders in lifting the crushing loneliness she had just realised she was feeling.

“Say nothing,” Ri gave simply, her voice a little colder. “Grab any elfroot you see, then pray to whatever gods you believe in that these Wardens know what they’re talking about.”

 

Long minutes passed of the quartet travelling with a balanced mix of speed and stealth through the clammy, damp-aired Korcari Wilds. Eventually Alistair stopped them again, although his gesturing was unnecessary; even from her position behind the two taller and broader humans, Ri could see the faint outlines of figures ahead. Between the two grey lakes, they were gathered on a slimy mudflat; no high ground, not a single vantage point in sight. Ri’s heart sank; there were a lot of figures ahead and she was at a severe disadvantage if using her preferred fighting style. With a sad exhalation she mounted her bow on her back and took her two blades from their position on her belt. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. Alistair had turned back to look at her, and gave a quick nod in recognition of her decision.

There was nothing for it but to just run into battle. No element of surprise, no crafty sniping. Just a gutteral growl which could have come from any of them, and suddenly they were fighting. Ri and Daveth arrived first, finding the five figures seen from afar to be more like eight figures in person. Nine, Ri realised as an arrow shot indiscriminately into the fray, glancing off a genlock and bouncing off harmlessly. She kept her head down as she joined Daveth’s dance, constantly appraising the figures around her to keep from striking her companion as they swam through the group, lashing out to each side, stabbing at limbs, at armpits and throats and anything that could pass for exposed flesh on creatures like this. Ri estimated five regular genlocks, two genlock archers (as an arrow came at her from another angle) and two hurlocks. She and Daveth cleared their first pass, keeping in motion as that was their chief advantage over the stocky monsters. There was an almighty roar as Alistair and Jory got stuck in, dishing out more damage, albeit at a slower pace. Ri managed to shoot Daveth a grin before they split up, each dashing toward one of the archers.

Putting the rest of the battle out of her mind, Ri launched herself at her new foe, anxious to take it down quickly so she might loot whatever usable arrows remained in its quiver. With an angry shout she leapt up the creature, clambering upon its leathery chest to stab her swords into either side of its head, below the edge of its too-small helmet.

“This is for Tam,” she hissed, twisting each knife and leaning back to avoid catching a spurt of blood to her face. The genlock gurgled, its arms flailing as it started to fall backward. One clawed hand scrabbled at her side, but its fading strength was no match for her simple yet effective leather armour. From her raised position, Ri reached over the creature’s head and pulled a handful of arrows from its quiver, thrusting them quickly into her own for later use. Leaping back from the falling creature, Ri gave it one final kick in the face, before turning back to the battle. She met Daveth’s eye again as the human felled his foe and gave a loud whoop of laughter, a bitter, spiteful sound devoid of any true joy or humour. One hurlock turned at the sound, its eyes immediately locking on to her. Without hesitation it started moving, leaving the cluster of warriors and darkspawn to make a beeline toward her.

Ri snarled, hearing Daveth’s cry of alarm and ignoring it in favour of meeting the brutish hurlock head on. This fight felt personal as much as it was to save her life, she would be damned if she stepped back and let a bunch of shems do the hard work.

Pausing for a split second to steady herself, Ri took a deep breath, almost drowning in the stench of so much darkspawn blood mixing with the murky, rotting smell of the muddy grey lakes. She burst into a sprint, head on toward the hurlock, studying its layers of armour as she approached. There weren’t many holes, she realised with a cold panic as it raised its massive mace. She was faster, slipping just to the left as she passed it, stabbing determinedly into the soft padding between the plates on its thighs and the bottom of its chest piece. Her momentum carried her forward, leaving the knife impaled in the monstrous demon.

“Shit!” she cursed, her one remaining blade held out before her as the beast swung round, faster than the first one had been.

“Take this,” Daveth joined her, offering a jagged black blade freshly removed from the claws of a fallen genlock. Ri took the blade, balancing it against her remaining elf blade and swapping the heavier darkspawn sword to her dominant right hand. She ran again, but the hurlock was ready this time, swinging with its enormous weapon. Too close to escape it, and too far to do any damage, Ri took the brunt of the blow. The mace collided with her side, sending her flying from the battle, landing with a hard thump in the shallows at the edge of the pond.

 

Cold, hurt, and with the air thoroughly knocked out of her, Ri could do nothing but groan for a long moment. The dark pain lurking deep within her chest was now joined by a sharp, new pain emanating from her left side, although a quick inspection once her arms started working, found no blood, so probably just a great deal of bruising. Possibly a couple of broken ribs. Not a great showing for her first real battle with the Wardens.

Suddenly Alistair was crouched beside her, concern written all over his face.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked, rummaging around in a belt pouch.

“Where doesn’t it hurt?” Ri croaked. “Mainly my side, here,” she gestured.

“Come on, let’s sit you up,” Alistair was hurrying, as Ri realised there were still enemies clashing with her new brethren. “Drink this,” he pressed a vial of bright red opalescent liquid into her hand.

“You look like you could use it,” Ri protested for a moment, then broke the seal of the vial and swallowed the potion in one go. “I’m good,” she declared before adding a more gracious, “thank you.” Alistair didn’t wait to see if she meant it, instead rushing back to the fighting. Ri pushed herself to her feet, glancing around for where her daggers had landed, then thinking better of it and retrieving her bow. There were three darkspawn still fighting, and her first arrow went straight through the temple of the hurlock who had hit her. Daveth was on his knees behind it, but her arrow proved distraction enough for the time being. Off somewhere to her right Jory was finishing off the one remaining genlock, as Alistair returned to the second hurlock.

Another two arrows to the monstrous creature brought it stumbling to its knees as Daveth found his feet, then plunged his knives into its exposed throat, panting with the exertion. Ri turned her focus on the last hurlock, currently parrying heavy blows with Jory and Alistair. It took longer to find a clear shot with two of her companions moving around it, but she eventually managed to loose her arrows first into its side, then into its leg, pinning it to the ground long enough for Jory to land the finishing blow.

A silence fell over the group as Alistair handed out further healing potions to first Daveth, then Jory. All four of them bore their own blood as well as the blood of their foes. Ri couldn’t help but to wonder what that meant - was it the proximity to the mirror that had triggered her sickness, rather than the saturation of darkspawn blood? Would they feel the after effects of this first encounter with monsters? Judging by the sheer horror on Jory’s face, Ri was certain he was going to have nightmares for a good few weeks after this. Daveth, on the other hand, was hiding any feelings he had behind a stony face. She was very curious as to what he had gone through to make him so guarded. Alistair, on the other hand, looked alive, tired - sure, but as if he were getting something out of this.

“You mind if we skip the next entirely outnumbered fight?” Daveth asked, his voice catching a little as the potion finished working its magic.

“We’re almost there,” Alistair made no promises. “It doesn’t sound like there will be any chance other than today to retrieve these treaties.”

“Tiptoeing around the darkspawn works too,” Daveth quipped, pushing himself to his feet and gathering his two shortswords. Ri forced herself into action, following his example as she started to pick up all the unbroken arrows she could see.

 

“Here,” Daveth approached, holding out the knife she had left in the hurlock. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low.

“Not remotely,” Ri sighed. “You?”

“Been better,” he gave a small shrug, then winced at the action.

“Just keep thinking about that warm meal waiting for us,” Ri reminded him. “Weirdly over-sized pyre, presumably somewhere cosy to sleep,” she frowned, having spent the past week travelling, she hadn’t yet sampled the Warden’s semi-permanent sleeping arrangements. A sudden thought crossed her mind and she spoke before really thinking it through, her voice for Daveth’s ears only. “Perhaps you’d like to show me the sleeping arrangements,” a wry smile crossed her lips as a look of surprise registered on Daveth’s face. To his credit he recovered quickly.

“That’s what state of mind all this fighting puts you in? I’m sure it would be unseemly of me to do anything but to obey. Might need a few more of the young ser’s potions first though.”

“I know a daring pickpocket who might be able to see that so, if the goods are not forthcoming,” Ri smiled, feeling a little more like herself than she had in what felt like a long time. She thought of Tamlen, feeling a dagger to her chest, but telling herself that she would not have wanted him to wait for her had she been the one to die, and so she should not feel guilty for moving forward. She needed something to ground herself, and as much as killing darkspawn had some fulfilling element of vengeance, it wasn’t shaking off the darkness that shrouded her. If she could find some fleeting joy in Daveth’s company before what seemed to be a rather bleak future of saving the world, then surely there could be no harm in that.

“Let’s go get these treaties then,” Daveth’s voice was raised as he turned from Ri and walked toward Alistair and the very grey-faced Jory.

 


	6. Have You Got It In You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty heaving on the bioware dialogue in this chapter. That won't always be the case as I start to play fast and loose with the plot, but for now it's verbatim in a lot of places.
> 
> Title is from a song by Imogen Heap

They walked as they had before, Alistair and Jory in front, although it had taken the big knight more than a little cajoling, and the promise that Alistair would intentionally steer them around any more darkspawn. Ri and Daveth took the rear, each keeping a look out to their own side, but their hands brushing far more than could be passed off as accidental.

A few minutes passed until Alistair slowed their pace.

“The bridge is ahead, then it’s uphill to the outpost. Scout reports say it’s clear, but they’re a couple of days old now. It is an unavoidable pinch point, but I can’t sense any darkspawn.”

“I can move quietly,” Ri found herself speaking up, eager to finish their task and start heading back to camp. “I could scout ahead, whistle when I’m over the bridge if it’s safe to cross?”

“I’ll come with you,” Daveth offered without hesitation.

“Whistle if it’s safe, come straight back if it isn’t,” Alistair agreed.

 

Darting forward into the low mist, Ri and Daveth travelled in comfortable silence. The rancid waters didn’t smell quite so bad now they were away from the darkspawn carnage, that or Ri was losing her sense of smell. Either way, it was almost possible to believe she were just exploring new parts of her old forest.

“Oriana,” Daveth called her name, suddenly deviating from the path.

“Most people call me Ri,” she gave, altering her path to follow him.

“Look; just what the medic ordered,” he dropped to one knee beside an elfroot plant and started nimbly divesting it of its leaves. “You just chew on one?” he asked, standing up and handing the whole pile of leaves to Ri.

“Yep, it’s not quite as effective as Alistair’s potions, but it’s enough to keep a girl going. Try one?” she met his eyes and held his gaze as she took one leaf between her thumb and forefinger, lifting it up and offering it out. Daveth’s lips parted, his gaze never wavering, as she carefully fed him the painkilling herb. “Thank you,” she added, touched that he had remembered to look for them. Taking two leaves for herself, the rest were placed in her belt pouch, and she placed the most chaste of kisses on Daveth’s lips, before turning and making her way back to the path.

The bridge soon appeared before them, a rickety wooden thing which looked like it would fall apart if someone tried to drive a wagon over it. The two rogues stopped halfway across it, both seeing the same scattering of rusty bear-traps.

“Can’t smell any of the monsters,” Daveth mused.

“No point in getting Jory more worked up than he already is,” Ri followed down the same trail of thought. She stepped forward, her senses hyper alert for a stick breaking under heavy demon foot, or the clanking of armour.

The traps were easy enough to disarm. Ri and Daveth made swift progress, until they were the far side of the bridge and the carpet of traps had been expertly swept aside.

“You’re good at that,” Daveth conceded. “You must have cleared twice as many as I did.”

“The amount of these things we found left in the forest,” Ri explained. “Nasty way to die; skewered on one of these. The Keeper made sure we were all taught how to disarm them from a young age.”

“You’ll have to tell me what your world was like, before,” Daveth insisted.

“You promised you’d go first,” Ri reminded him. “Now, stay there - I’ll go back and call the others. The sooner this is done, the sooner we can get back, tell stories, get warm,” with a suggestive wink she danced away, jogging back across the bridge and giving a shrill whistle. As she stood waiting, Ri noticed a splash of white by the water beside the bridge. Crouching to investigate further she found a clump of long-stemmed flowers; white with a deep red middle. She had almost forgotten her promise to the kennel mistress. Deftly, Ri picked every last flower, securing them beside the vials of darkspawn blood, then returning to the path as Alistair and Jory emerged from the mist.

“You took longer than I’d thought. Where’s Daveth?” Alistair asked upon seeing her.

“Other side of the bridge,” Ri fell in beside them as they started to cross. “We found a whole bunch of traps, but no one guarding them. Cleared them out the way - keeping the return path open.”

“Good,” Alistair gave her a quick nod, and she stepped back, allowing him to take the lead once more. Daveth greeted them with a wordless wave, then joined her, reaching casually into her belt pouch to pull out another elfroot leaf for himself.

 

The path started to wind upward, as Alistair had said it would, and the mist cleared to reveal the ruins of a building. More of the white stone of Ostagar stood in lone columns, once holding up a roof, Ri assumed, although the roof was nowhere to be seen. Immense archways formed a large circular room, within the larger circle of columns. Ri could see how it might once have been a tall, imposing building, denoting the edge of the Wilds and the beginning of so-called civilisation, but not the ruined building looked lost and empty amidst the miserable Wilds. Ri spotted another elfroot plant, but it didn’t seem the time for stopping to harvest it. Alistair was picking up speed, rushing them all into the stony-floored clearing in the middle of the outpost. There were toppled walls; large panels of white brick, as well as heaped up earth deposits which presumably wouldn’t have been there when the outpost was in use. Alistair made his way to the most intact wall, finding a hidden panel which opened to reveal a large wooden chest. Ri could feel a sense of relief that all they had to do now was to get back. Her chest was pounding, the darkspawn plague seemingly warring against her heart’s own beat, causing a thrumming sensation which threatened to tear her already bruised ribs asunder. Moving her head too quickly caused stars to appear in her vision. It was getting late, too late, she had no more of her Keeper’s potion and was completely at the mercy of the Grey Wardens.

“What?” Alistair’s exclamation didn’t sound too good. “They’re gone.”

“Well, well, what have we here?” Ri gasped, turning in sync with her companions to find the most unusual human woman standing atop a fallen white stone column. Her black hair was tied back, contrasting with her alabaster skin. There was a lot of that skin on display, Ri couldn’t help but to think. A lot of skin on display for a woman alone in a darkspawn-populated place. Although the staff the woman held could provide an answer for that wondering. Mages often had their own forms of defence that didn’t necessarily require physical armour. All the same, Ri found herself immediately admiring the woman’s boldness.

“Are you vultures, I wonder? Scavengers poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned?” The woman continued, shooting her accusations at the whole group. She stepped down from her vantage point, and Ri felt herself taking a pace forward to meet her, whilst the men stood paralysed in their places. The woman was slender, muscled, clearly not going hungry, but hard - none of the soft edges that seemed present in every human Ri had met so far. “Or are you merely intruders, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?” Ri felt her cheeks warm at the accusation. She focused on studying this woman, her left arm clad in leather, feathers sprouting from her single shoulder covering, the other arm only bearing a few small leather bindings. She wore ornate jewellery at her neck; not the shiny metals Ri had seen touted in the South Reach market, but ornately whittled wooden beads and smooth white pebbles strung together. Her clothing was well worn, the tough material of the skirt re-sewn a number of times, its practical nature clashing spectacularly with the artfully draped yet flimsy material of her top. Ri tried to force herself to meet the woman’s accusatory golden yellow eyes, only just succeeding. “What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?” The silence stretched out a little too long as Ri realised Alistair wasn’t responding for them.

“Intruder?” she repeated, feeling a burst of conflict - she had made similar demands of men who had trespassed upon the forests her clan had camped in. The Dalish had never had any stronger claim to the lands, but they had fought and killed to protect the illusion that they owned the place. “And just how are these your Wilds?” she met the challenge, crossing her arms across her chest, partly to have something to do with her hands, and partly to show she wasn’t reaching for her weapons. The woman merely chuckled in response.

“Because I know them as only one who owns them could. Can you claim the same?” Ri’s heart sank. It was as if she were a human invading the forest and finding the Dalish barring her way. It was an uncomfortable role reversal. “I have watched your progress for some time. ‘Where do you go,’ I wondered. ‘Why are they here?’”

“Don’t answer her,” Alistair spoke up. “She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby.” Ri frowned, not understanding what ‘Chasind’ meant, and not sure whether to trust the ex-templar where mages were concerned.

“You,” Morrigan too ignored the Grey Warden, speaking directly to Ri. “Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.” The edge of Ri’s lips twitched into the smallest of smiles.

“You can call me Oriana,” she gave freely.

“And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish,” came the response, turning stranger to cautious acquaintance. “Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?”

“'Here no longer?’” Alistair erupted. “You stole them, didn’t you? You’re some kind of sneaky witch-thief!” The words came out awkwardly, as he grasped for some sort of authority and failed to meet it. Ri barely managed to contain a smirk.

“How very eloquent,” Morrigan sneered. “How does one steal from dead men?”

“Quite easily, it seems,” Alistair recovered. “Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them.” Morrigan simply lifted her eyebrows, unimpressed.

“I will not, for t’was not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened.” Ri lifted a hand, turning to fix Alistair with a glare - his impetuous anger was not going to make any headway here.

“Then who removed them?” she asked of the mage woman.

“T’was my mother, in fact,” came the somewhat unexpected response.

“Could you please take us to her?” Ri pressed.

“There is a sensible request. I like you,” Morrigan purred.

“I’d be careful,” the former-templar warned. “First it’s ‘I like you’, but then Zap! Frog time.”

“She’ll put us all in the pot, she will. Just you watch,” Ri let out a sigh as Daveth joined in the anti-mage nonsense. She had had such high hopes for the city thief.

“If the pot’s warmer than this forest, it’d be a nice change,” Jory’s miserable mumbling elicited a small laugh from Ri, inclined as she was to agree with his sentiment.

“Follow me, then, if it pleases you,” Morrigan turned her back on the group and started walking away, clearly expecting them to follow.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Ri hissed as Alistair started to protest.

“We need those treaties,” he conceded. “But I dislike this; Morrigan’s sudden appearance. It’s too convenient.”

“Convenient or not, we don’t have much of a choice,” she stated the obvious.

“Tell me that again when we’re being devoured by witches.”

 

They followed the strange woman through a path Ri would have struggled to pick out had she not been with a guide. Alistair and Daveth followed her, muttering together the various terrible tales they had heard about Chasind witches. Jory stumbled along loudly at the rear, mumbling incoherently.

“The main darkspawn camp is thirty miles that way,” Morrigan announced, casually waving her hand toward the South.

“They don’t bother you?” Ri asked, hearing the two men behind her cease their whinging and start paying attention.

“They don’t know we are here,” the answer, so simple, was laden with double meaning. Ri knew a bit about hiding, but the look on her Keeper’s face after they come back from the ruins had been a look of such fear. The Dalish weren’t simply hiding and waiting for this to pass, and they were many days’ travel to the north east. For these witches, if they were indeed both magic users, to be so blasé about the oncoming horde seemed to say something about them. Whether they were powerful or simply ignorant Ri couldn’t yet say, but they were the two most obvious explanations.

 

The wood-framed cottage in the midst of the trees and open grassland didn’t seem particularly hidden. It was on a small hill, away from the lakes, with the land continuing to rise up beyond the house. Likely a small building to the three humans behind her, it was a bigger dwelling than any Ri had ever lived in. Even in the depths of winter she had never slept in anything bigger than a Halla-skin tent, with enough room for three or four elves to sleep if they didn’t mind sharing wolf-skins and woven coverings.

An elderly human stood outside the cottage, watching them approach. She looked entirely unremarkable with her thin grey hair and her patched brown dress, but her piercing dark gold eyes marked her as Morrigan’s kin.

“Greetings, Mother, I bring before you four Grey Wardens who-”

“I see them girl,” the woman interrupted as Ri stopped walking, her fellow Wardens and Warden-Recruits spreading out beside her whilst Morrigan joined her mother in facing them. “Mmm, much as I expected,” she spoke in a coarse, weathered voice.

“Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?” Alistair demanded, unimpressed.

“You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one’s eyes tight or open one’s arms wide, either way, one’s a fool!” She had the same riddle-like way of talking as Morrigan did. More confusing, perhaps. She seemed straight-talking, but at the same time seemed to lace her words with hidden meaning and flowery nonsense. Ri didn’t like it, but didn’t seem quite as appalled as the men she was with.

“She’s a witch, I tell you! We shouldn’t be talking to her,” Daveth’s aversion to mages was plain in his words. Ri shook her head slightly, disappointed that her potential new bedfellow was so close-minded. She would have to see if she could open him up to new ways of thinking before Alistair’s templar guidance caught in his brain rendering him too set in those human beliefs.

“Quiet, Daveth!” Jory scolded in a loud whisper. “If she’s really a witch do you want to make her mad?”

“There’s a smart lad,” Morrigan’s mother crooned. “Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will. And what of you?” she turned her dark-circled eyes on Ri. “Does your elvhen mind give you a different viewpoint? What do you believe?”

“I believe you have something we need,” Ri said carefully, trying to get things back on track before any of her companions said anything to annoy the two women.

“They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother,” Morrigan spoke up, causing a jolt of relief to flood through Ri. It seemed for now they had an ally, tentative as it might be.

“True, they came for their treaties, yes? And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these.” The woman was talking to Alistair again, prompting his surprised response.

“You - oh. You protected them?”

“And why not?” the woman asked. “Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight’s threat is greater than they realise.” Dire warnings that settled heavily on Ri’s shoulders.

“Thank you for returning them,” she spoke up, always mindful of what her Keeper would think of her behaviour.

“Such manners,” the woman laughed. “Always in the last place you look, like stockings! Oh do not mind me. You have what you came for!”

“Time for you to go then,” Morrigan suggested, a little too eagerly, giving Ri cause to wonder whether the ambush at the outpost was more her mother’s plan than her own.

“Do not be ridiculous, girl,” the mother scolded. “These are your guests.” Morrigan gave a scowl.

“Oh, very well, I will show you out of the woods. Follow me.”

 

Morrigan set off at a faster pace this time, seemingly not open to conversation, so Ri fell in behind her, jogging every so often to keep up with the human’s unforgiving speed. As they travelled Ri warred between anger that her fellow Wardens had been slowing themselves for her benefit, and embarrassment that her racial shortcomings were letting her down so soon. They cut through narrow deer trails, skirted round hills and sudden crags, and cut across wide open spaces without any hint of darkspawn. Even with the obvious diversions, the journey back to Ostagar seemed to take no time at all, and suddenly they were facing one of the gates. Morrigan disappeared without a trace before Ri could give a single word of thanks or farewell. She looked to her companions and saw relief on each of their faces and once more her heart sank at this seemingly ingrained fear or hatred they all carried.

“She seemed nice,” Ri said aloud, ignoring the scoff that came from Jory, and the startled expressions on Alistair and Daveth’s faces. “Shall we go in?”

 

“I have a quick errand to run,” Ri reminded Alistair as soon as they were permitted entry back into the war camp, her voice low. “For the kennel mistress. Should I go now, or wait until later?”

“Go now,” he decided, “but be quick. We’ll get patched up at the Warden camp and meet Duncan there. Join us there.” Ri gave a quick nod and set off at a jog toward the wooden building housing the army’s mabari hounds.

 

Kennel Mistress Kari Greenway spotted the Warden recruit’s approach, her mouth dropping open for a moment, before she contained her shock.

“Your blood or someone else’s?” she asked, ushering Ri to a low bench. “You reek of darkspawn.”

“It’s been quite an afternoon,” Ri gave lightly, a sudden bone-deep weariness creeping up on her as she sat. There suddenly seemed a very real chance she might not ever stand up again. The darkness in her chest was growing, pushing firmly against her ribs, sending its hot-and-cold tendrils of pain outwards, to her gut, her shoulders, her arms, neck, hips. Every part of her body hurt.

“Drink this,” Kari pressed a healing potion into her hand. Ri started - these weren’t exactly in plentiful supply, not on the eve of battle. “Just drink it,” Kari snapped, concern giving way to gruff insistence. Ri obeyed, feeling a gently warmth fight back the illness’s rampage.

“I might not last the night,” she admitted soberly. “I just needed to bring you something,” she dug her hand into the pouch at her waist, her shaking fingers bringing forth a crushed posy of white and red flowers.

“Oh, Maker bless you, child,” Kari gasped. “I wasn’t sure whether to hold out any hope,” she took the flowers, inspecting them closely. “Yes, yes, this is exactly what I needed. You sit there a second, it won’t take a moment to make this into an ointment, then we can see about fixing you up.”

“I have to get back to the Wardens,” Ri insisted, using the burst of strength the potion had instilled in her to push herself to her feet. “What happens to the dog now?”

“She’s a strong girl, a day or two of this treatment and she should be back on all four paws in no time. I dare say she’ll remember you; they’re smart dogs. Come back after the battle and see for yourself.”

“I shall try,” Ri said, with a wry chuckle. “I shall certainly try,” she wobbled for a second, then drew her remaining strength and turned, slowly, scanning the camp around her until she found the Warden’s banners. “Take care, Kennel Mistress Kari.”

“And you, Warden Oriana,” came the careful reply as Ri started walking away,

 

“Maker’s breath, Ri,” Alistair’s voice in her ear, his arm firmly around her waist to keep her upright, was the first clue Ri had that she had made it to the Warden’s camp.

“You look awful, Oriana,” Daveth added, loitering on her other side.

“Sit her down and give her this,” Duncan’s voice, and another health potion appeared before her.

“I had one at the kennels,” she admitted, her head clearing a little as she was helped to a seat.

“Have another,” Duncan ordered. “We shall debrief, then proceed with the Joining. Time is of the essence. I presume you were successful in the Wilds?”

“We were,” Alistair replied quickly, still a solid presence behind Ri, she realised. The second health potion made a world of difference, and she was suddenly a lot more aware of her surroundings. Her back was pressed against Alistair’s thigh as he stood behind the crate the men had provided for her to sit on. The plates of his mail pressed into her back, but she made no move to lean forward. Daveth and Jory were in front of the bench, facing Duncan, although Daveth did keep shooting worried glances back at her.

“Good,” Duncan continued. “I’ve had the Circle mages preparing. With the blood you’ve retrieved we are ready for the Joining.”

“Tell him about Morrigan,” Ri prompted, her voice a little hoarse as if she needed to cough to clear her throat.

“There was a woman at the tower, and her mother had the scrolls,” Alistair reported. “They were both very odd.”

“Were they wilder folk?”

“I don’t think so. They might be apostates, in hiding from the Chantry.” Ri bristled as Alistair voiced the likely truth, but it seemed Duncan was not interested.

“I know you were once a templar, Alistair, but Chantry business is not ours. We have the scrolls; let’s focus on the Joining. Oriana, are you fit to stand?”

“I think so,” she replied, gingerly pushing herself forward, surprised to find her legs able to take her weight with only the slightest tremor. “Those potions are really something,” she attempted light-hearted, and only half succeeded.

“Excellent,” Duncan smiled behind his thick beard. “You will need that courage to face what comes next.”

“Sounds ominous,” she frowned.

“Courage?” Daveth picked up on it too. “How much danger are we in?”

“I will not lie,” Duncan said plainly. “We Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later.”

“I’m not dead quite yet,” Ri sighed. “I might as well see this through.”

“Let’s get on with it then,” Daveth agreed. “I have important plans this evening that simply cannot wait,” he added in hushed tones as he offered Ri his arm. Any other day she would have waved off the presumption that she needed help, but she knew she was weakened and would rather accept his help than struggle alone and fail.

“Lead on, Alistair, I shall get what I need from the mages and meet you at the old temple.” Alistair nodded once, then started walking away from camp, his pace considerably slowed - a fact Ri was quick to pick up on, and equally shamed and relieved by.

“The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it,” Jory spoke up as they walked, his voice sulky and dejected.

“Are you blubbering again?” Daveth sniped coldly.

“Why all these damned tests? Have I not earned my place?”

“Maybe it’s tradition,” the rogue suggested. “Or maybe they’re just trying to annoy you?”

“Are all knights such cowards?” Ri added her own dry condemnation.

“I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way. If they had warned me… It just doesn’t seem fair.” Ri found her vicious taunts disappearing at Jory’s miserable admission. She knew a little bit about leaving a family, about losing someone special.

“Would you have come if they’d warned you?” Daveth still had something to say, it seemed. “Maybe that’s why they don’t. The Wardens do what they must, right?”

“Including sacrificing us?”

“I’d sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight,” Daveth’s passion came through loud and clear, but the bickering was starting to get loud and Ri didn’t want to draw Alistair’s attention as they followed him out of the main camp and up into the ruins once more.

“This isn’t helping anyone,” she sighed. “Let’s just get on with this without anymore arguing.”

“You saw those darkspawn, ser knight. Wouldn’t you die to protect your pretty wife from them?,” Daveth threw one last verbal punch.

“Daveth!” Ri hissed.

“Alright, alright,” he backed down. “If no one stops the darkspawn we’ll all die for sure,” his voice was quieter now, trying to justify his strong words.

“Some of us sooner than others,” Ri added grimly.

“You just hold on,” he lowered his voice. “This Blight won’t stand a chance against the two of us.”

 

Duncan arrived in the temple only shortly after Alistair and the recruits did. Ri suspected this was due to their slower pace on account of her frailness, rather than some supreme burst of speed from the Warden-Commander. She was standing alone and unaided whilst Daveth and Jory continued their low digs. Alistair was keeping himself deliberately separated from the Recruits, which was what Ri found the most disturbing.

“At last we come to the Joining,” he declared. “The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint.”

“We’re going to drink the blood of those- those creatures?” Jory whimpered. Ri had no voice, no ability to put into words how much the concept reviled her. She had already been broken beyond repair by darkspawn, their blood, their inescapable taint. This didn’t seem so much a cure as a whole-hearted embracing of the enemy.

“As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory. Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon.” Alistair reminded them once more that death was on the line. A certainty, really, Ri realised; if the taint didn’t kill her then the darkspawn might, not to mention this archdemon. What good was she, one elf with a bow and a couple of knives, against an archdemon?

“We speak only a few words prior to the Joining,” Duncan finished the preamble. “But these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?” the younger Warden stepped forward, a stoic expression on his face, almost masking the nervous look in his eyes, and Ri reminded herself he had been in their position six months prior; this was likely his first Joining after his own. Anxiety warred with cold numbness, the fear seeming to feed the monster within her chest.

“Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you.” The solemn words of the ritual stirred something within Ri; a small glowing warmth rising up to combat the darkness. She caught Alistair’s eyes and gave a genuine smile, then turned to Daveth to find her newfound enthusiasm echoed in his face. Only Jory remained pallid and frightened as Duncan finished his ministrations with an large silver chalice which seemed to be the size of Ri’s whole head.

“Daveth, step forward,” Duncan requested.

“See you on the other side,” Daveth winked at Ri. “Dinner’s on me.”

“Don’t go saving the world without me, just because you’re getting a headstart,” she returned lightly.

Daveth approached Duncan’s position, accepting the immense goblet. and lifting it to his lips with no hesitation, downing the contents in one long gulp. Ri watched, eager to see what transformation came across her new friend.

For a long moment nothing happened, then quickly everything went wrong. Daveth staggered backwards, folding in half as if he had been punched in the stomach. His hand flew to his head, fingers turned to claws raking at his skull. He turned, finding his balance, and Ri found herself staring into white clouded eyes, all the world’s pain written over the man’s face. She reached for him, but Alistair was there between them, holding her back.

“No,” Ri gasped.

Daveth’s eyes closed, his hand fell to his throat, his breathing turned hoarse, ragged, a garbled sound came out not distinguishable as any words Ri knew. Then he was down on all fours, his breaths coming in long wheezing body-wracking efforts.

“I am sorry, Daveth,” Duncan uttered as the fallen man grew still. Alistair would not release his hold on Ri, even as she tried to bolt forward to see if there was anything she could do.

“Shh,” the young Warden’s tone was almost desperate as he tried to soothe her. Ri let out a hoarse cry, her struggles abating quickly. Even on her best day the Warden had more physical strength than she did. This weak, she could do little more than sag in his arms, grief and fear coursing through her.

“Step forward, Jory,” continued the Warden-Commander, a refreshed goblet in his hands.


	7. Heavy Handed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday!
> 
> Today's offering shares a title with a song by James Bay, so please add that to your ongoing playlist. Or, alternatively, check out my ongoing playlist here if you don't mind spoilers for forthcoming chapter titles;  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/216ny4s7f5frp52xlvp4gezfa/playlist/61BawN9f0LML09qsF2x2ey?si=xeBtkLBtT50BLEbDtlQ3Eg

“Step forward, Jory,” Duncan repeated, his voice a little firmer. Ri watched, horror-struck, sagging a little against Alistair, as Jory backed away. The knight looked like a lost child, his eyes flitting between Duncan and Daveth’s prone body. Then, in an instant, he changed. His hand went to the pommel of his sword, his face hardened.

“But- I have a wife, a child! Had I known-” he continued backing away. Duncan placed the re-filled chalice down on a stone table and stepped after Jory.

“There is no turning back,” came the damning words. Ri had stopped fighting, finding herself turned to stone, unable to look away from the scene unfolding in front of her.

“No!” Jory shouted, his sword up in front of him, wavering in his unsteady hands. “You ask too much. There is no glory in this!” Still he walked backwards. Ri wanted to call out, to tell him to stay, to make it easier on himself, but she remained silent. It was clear now how this would end, and nothing she said or did would make the slightest difference. Jory’s back hit the stone wall and he panicked, raising his greatsword. Duncan drew his own longsword, moving with reluctant necessity, parrying two of Jory’s desperate blows, then swiftly cutting the man’s throat.

“The Joining is not yet complete,” Duncan stepped back, sorrow in his eyes. “Step forward, Oriana. You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good.” Alistair’s arms released her, and Ri stepped forward, resigned to her fate. She had managed to delay her death by almost ten days; she should by rights have died with Tamlen in that gods-forsaken mirror room.

Hands shaking, she reached for the goblet, her nose wrinkling at the stench of its contents. She pressed her lips to the rim and upended it, wanting this over with. The concoction tasted better than she had expected. Still pretty awful, but with a mix of familiar herbs, and some unfamiliar ones, balancing the taste a little. Duncan reclaimed the empty goblet, and both he and Alistair stepped back, leaving her alone to face her fate.

For a long moment nothing happened.

“From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden,” Duncan declared, and upon his proclamation Ri felt a splitting pain in her head, she raised her hand to her forehead, her eyes clamped closed against the sudden brightness of the dusky world. This was it, death. Ri had never before really understood mortality and the utter finality of death, and now that she was actually facing it she felt nothing but cold fear. Fear and pain, splitting her skull from within. The implosion passed and her head shot up, her eyelids opening but her eyes no longer seeing reality.

 

There was a dragon, an impossibly large beast, silhouetted against green-tinged clouds of smoke. It roared, a deafening sound, its wings beating angrily through the warm air, as it turned its massive head, fixing her directly in its glare. It moved closer, acidic fangs shining in the green light as it leant in to smell her. Frozen, like a mouse snared by a wolf, Ri had no choice but to await her fate, a growing panic within her. She could smell sulfur, could taste the acid on her tongue. For an eternity she was pinned beneath the dragon’s gaze, torn between her own fragile body and a new, torturous existence within the dragon. Or perhaps she was the dragon. The wing beats became the war drums of a sea of darkspawn, the dragon soared over them, then soared up into the sky, the motion making Ri feel dizzy.

Then the dragon was gone. Everything was gone.

 

Opening her eyes, Ri found herself lying on the stone ground, a slight ringing in her ears but most definitely alive. More alive than before the nightmare vision. She was looking into the faces of Duncan and Alistair, the sky a dark inky blue behind them, implying she had been out a while. She wasn’t dead, so maybe- a tiny hope flared in her chest - now almost completely free of the darkness she had been overwhelmed by before. Maybe Daveth wasn’t dead - maybe he too had been out cold and dreaming of monsters.

“It is finished. Welcome,” Duncan greeted her warmly. Alistair looked a little less composed, as he extended an arm to help Ri to her feet.

“Two more deaths,” the young Warden lamented, thoughtlessly dashing Ri’s hopes that maybe Daveth had somehow survived. “In my Joining only one of us died, but it was still rather horrible,” he seemed to be talking more to himself before he turned his attention to her. “I’m glad at least one of you made it through.”

“How do you feel?” Duncan asked once she was safely on her feet.

“Like I died,” Ri admitted. “That was beyond the worst thing I could have expected.”

“Such is what it takes to be a Grey Warden,” Duncan decreed solemnly.

“Did you have dreams?” Alistair asked, attempting a companionable tone, but not quite breaking through Ri’s renewed barriers. She had a lot of processing to do, and keeping up with the perky youngster was not high on her list of priorities. “I had terrible dreams after my Joining.”

“Such dreams come when you begin to sense darkspawn, as we all do. That and many other things can be explained in the months to come.” Duncan dismissed Alistair’s obvious attempts at comparison. It wasn’t a surprise to Ri that there would be more explanations owed. She was a fully fledged Grey Warden now and she still had little idea of what it was the Grey Wardens did, other than killing darkspawn and ending Blights. Oh, and sensing darkspawn, she wasn’t looking forward to testing out that new power.

“There is one last part to your Joining,” Alistair held out an ungloved hand, offering her the contents. “We take some of the potion and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us of those who didn’t make it this far.” Ri met his eyes as she took the silver pendant, an icy cold glare on her face. No word of thanks crossed her lips as she fastened the clasp around her neck, tucking the pendant within her leather breastplate. He could never understand, she told herself. She had lost everything. Everyone dear to her. Her home, her family, her lover, even the one friend she had made since arriving. This was no memento of her loss, this was a symbol of the blood that had broken her world. Once the necklace was fastened she joined her hands before her, her fingers immediately finding the delicately carved ring Keeper Marethari had gifted her.

“Take this evening for yourself,” Duncan instructed, his tone kindly although he was clearly weary. “Alistair will show you back to the camp, find you some food and let you know which tent to bed down in. We’re meeting with the king at first light. Alistair - come back here once she is settled.”

“Yes, Duncan. Come on then, time for some supper,” Alistair said brightly.

“No,” Ri shook her head. “Where is Daveth? What about him, what about Jory? They need to be laid to rest,” she looked around, realising she had been brought to the outer room of the old temple; presumably so she didn’t awaken surrounded by corpses. Her bow, quiver, and knives were propped up beside where she had been lying. The two men she had begun her Joining with were to be cast aside, forgotten like her old life.

“We shall handle it, Oriana,” Duncan insisted.

“I would like to help,” she returned, determined. “I missed Tamlen’s funeral, please don’t make me miss this too.”

“You do have to get back to speak with the revered mother,” Alistair pointed out, causing Duncan to let out a sigh.

“If you are sure you have the strength for it,” he gave in. Ri nodded once. “Very well, Alistair - see that this is done quickly and discretely. Report to me before you turn in. Oriana, I shall see you in the morning. Sleep well, we shall be moving quickly tomorrow, by the looks of it.”

 

Ri thought she was ready, grabbing her weapons and mounting them upon her armour, but the sight that awaited her in the temple was almost too awful. Daveth was there, as she remembered him; his body flat out on the cold stone floor, his face contorted in pain so there could be no doubt at all that his life had been wrenched from him. Then there was Jory, surrounded by his own congealing blood, a deep gash across his throat almost severing his head. The act had looked almost merciful in its performance, but the aftermath spoke of a brutal death. The loss of life, both Jory and Daveth, caused Ri’s stomach to revolt, churning as she forced herself to step forward into the room.

Duncan had taken the chalice, along with the empty vials, but not the two spades Alistair produced from under a stone table. The realisation that they expected at least one of the three of them to die struck Ri with a new understanding of how cold the Grey Wardens really were, as well as an answer for their dwindling numbers. Who would want to join a secretive sect like this which required its members to be completely cut off from their old life, and risk either the sword or poison just to get past the first task? More to the point, Re wasn’t even sure if Jory’s wife would be told that her husband had died, and almost certainly not the specifics of how he had died.

“You don’t have to do this,” Alistair offered, softly. “I won’t tell Duncan if you want to leave me to it.”

“I kind of feel like he died for me,” Ri sighed, gesturing toward Daveth. “Like, if I hadn’t come here I would have just died in my clan and maybe he would have survived, and then maybe Jory wouldn’t have-. I know it doesn’t work like that, it’s stupid to think that way. It’s just such a waste,” she shrugged, marvelling for a second at how the pain had decreased dramatically in just a few short hours, or however long the Joining had taken. It felt like a long time had passed, but it could just be that the sunsets happened quicker this far south.

“It doesn’t sound stupid to me. If it helps,” Alistair started cautiously, “Daveth will be listed in the archives as a full Grey Warden; and he did take out a whole heap of darkspawn, so he has made a difference to the world.” It didn’t really help, but Ri let the subject drop, silently working with Alistair to move the two bodies out of the temple and to a quiet spot in the shade. Alistair poured an unknown concoction over the bloodied floor and walls, whilst Ri made a start digging into the soft loamy earth.

“It gets easier,” Alistair spoke moments after joining her, giving Ri cause to believe him the type to be uncomfortable with protracted silences. The kinds of silences she was the most comfortable in. “I mean, of course it gets easier; it’s not going to be like this every day.” She remained silent, focused on her digging. “Once you get to know the other Wardens you’ll find that we’re not awful. Some of us are even quite funny. Once you get Simeon talking about his days in Orlais, well, you’ll be in fits of giggles, he really knows how to tell them.”

“What about Jory?” she asked, coldly, more to stop Alistair’s earnest platitudes than because she had a pressing need to know.

“What do you mean?” Alistair looked up from his digging, not following her chain of thought.

“Will Jory be listed in the archives as a Grey Warden? Will his wife and child be told he died an honourable death in the services of the Wardens? Or that he was executed for being a coward, for being too damn stupid to know to say ‘no’ to Duncan in the first place?”

“I don’t know,” Alistair admitted.

“Why was he even here?” Ri pressed on, anger suppressing her grief. “I had no choice but to give this a try, it was that or sit and wait for certain death. Daveth was surely bound for the stocks, or worse, so sure - spring him from that sentence to this one where he could do good, he wanted to do good. But Jory? Sure he was capable of tipping a sword against another flounced up human in his fancy tournaments, but he had a life, had a family. What was Duncan thinking?” Alistair blinked at her for a long moment, apparently putting some thought into his answer.

“Duncan was desperate,” he ventured. “And I dare say Jory was the only man among them who said yes. Ordinarily Duncan wouldn’t even have been touting for new recruits at a tourney, but you’ve seen the darkspawn. There are more, so many more, heading here, heading up from all over the south. This is a true Blight, and we are so low on numbers here in Ferelden. Duncan has called for aid from the Orlesian Wardens, but they will not be here soon enough. We need more Wardens in order to protect the people. We need fighters, people who know which end of the sword to take hold of. We need people of strength like Ser Jory, people of quick mind and deft hands, like Daveth, people who know how to survive, like yourself. Ser Jory’s family will die if we do not stop this Blight. Everyone we have all left behind will die.”

“And no one would want to join the fabled Grey Wardens if they knew they could die before they even got the secret special darkspawn sense,” Ri’s anger dissolved back into tired apathy.

“It’s like the King’s army - there’s no riskier job, but someone has to do it or the whole world would crumble.” Ri let out a small snort of disagreement, but kept her thoughts to herself, returning to her preferred silent state. The Dalish had never needed armies; had never needed to separate the protectors from the people they were protecting.

 

Once the two bodies had been unceremoniously heaved into the deep holes Ri and Alistair had dug, and the dirt filled back in to make two very obvious grave-shaped mounds, the two Grey Wardens took a step back to inspect their work. It was getting very dark by now, and Ri felt a frustration that there was nothing she could plant over the two graves. It was a Dalish custom, to plant something over the final resting place of the dead, but she reasoned that these were not Dalish people, so they wouldn’t have expected it, nor would their family. All the same, the plain graves didn’t sit right with her.

“Thank you for helping,” Alistair gave tentatively. Ri shrugged her shoulders.

“It’s my duty,” she grunted.

“I’ll show you down to the Warden camp, then I’ve got to go find Duncan,” he offered.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ri didn’t particularly want the company, let alone to be paraded back through the camp and deposited before Simeon ready to hear his thrilling Orlesian tales. “I want to go check on the mabari first, I can get back to the camp myself.”

“As you wish. When you get back, Sierra is on dinner duty tonight, and Athnarel should be best placed to point you to somewhere to rest your head.” Ri nodded her understanding, leaving her spade with her fellow Warden, and reclaiming her weaponry.

“There is a precedence for Wardens working with a mabari,” Alistair’s lilting comment followed her as she walked away.

 

Strolling back through the camp Ri was immediately assaulted by a cacophany of food smells, voices, music, and bright fire light cutting in and out between tents and workstations. It was a completely different experience to her first experience of Ostagar; changed from hardworking camp to jovial gathering place. Even the kennels had a crackling bonfire with some sort of meat roasting above it, and the low buzz of conversation. Kari Greenway looked up at the new Warden’s approach and gave a smile, leaving her three juniors beside the fire as she welcomed Ri.

“You’re looking a little better,” she commented, looking her up and down. “Need a good scrubbing, get all that blood off, but you almost pass for a Warden now.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever feel like a Warden, even if they manage to get me to look the part,” Ri gave a wry smile. “I’m just heading back to camp for dinner, thought I’d see how the sick mabari was doing. Did the flowers help?”

“Come see for yourself,” Kari led the way around to the sick hound’s pen and pulled back the bolt on the door, gesturing for Ri to enter. “She’s a bright thing, already responding to her new name as if she never had another.”

“She’s not going to remember I muzzled her?” she asked, wary of the large beasts and their immense strength.

“She’s going to remember that you helped her. Actually,” Kari paused, “might be worth to leave some of the bloodiest armour outside. Not worth risking her touching any more of that darkspawn blood whilst she’s still recovering,” Ri shuddered, her mind still processing the last few hours. She pulled the laces of her leather breastplate, loosening it enough that she could slip out of it. Her belts and their pouches followed too, along with the leather slatted skirt, leaving her in just her cotton undershirt and jodhpurs. It was a cool night, but as Ri stepped into the pen she stepped into a cloud of warmth. Between the thick layer of hay on the floor, and the large body of the mabari warhound, there was plenty of heat in the pen.

“Hi there,” she murmured, holding out an empty hand, palm up, for the large beast to sniff. Nothing like the wiry flightiness of a wolf, mabaris were clearly made of muscle, their short fur accentuating every sinew. This mabari was mostly brown, with a darker muzzle and a bright splash of white on her chest. Faded paint on her sides showed she had once been painted with the war paint of the King’s army. Ever so gently she leant forward to sniff Ri’s palm, her head impossibly massive at this close proximity. Ri could see freshly stitched wounds on the war dog’s flank, daubed with a greenish white paste. “How’re you feeling?” she crooned, scratching the dog under the chin. This action seemed to elicit a great deal of tail wagging, with the stump of the dog’s tail causing the hay she was lying on to go flying. Ri grinned, moving closer to caress the dog’s ears, feeling the softer fur on the outer corner and delighting in how it felt on her calloused fingers. The dog seemed to appreciate Ri’s ministrations as she fell with a large exhalation of breath onto her uninjured side, baring a white and brown splodged stomach, one paw inelegantly held in the air. Ri let out a small laugh, obliging in transferring her fuss giving to the mabari’s belly. “I’m glad you’re better, it means there’s hope for the rest of us” she gave easily, patting the barrel-like chest of the not-quite-so-ferocious war dog.

Before the temptation to bed down in the warm hay alongside the massive beast really took hold, Ri’s stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten for most of the day. Reluctantly she pushed herself to her feet and took the few steps to the doorway, guilt-ridden as the dog gave a low whine.

“You know, there have been Grey Wardens with mabari,” Kari pointed out lightly, closing the pen door behind her.

“So I’ve been told,” Ri returned, pulling her blood-stained armour back on. “I shall be asking my Warden-Commander.”

“I don’t think there’ll be any bother with the imprinting, looks like the two of you already have a good bond to build from. Not to mention that her previous handler could possibly go above my head to order her disposed of. You might be saving her life.” Ri felt a shudder run through her, anger rising at how some people saw animals as simply disposable. “Come back after the battle tomorrow, with your Warden-Commander’s permission, and we’ll see if she still takes to you so well outside of the pen.”

“Deal,” Ri agreed, hopeful that Alistair would back her up if Duncan had any misgivings about taking on a dog.

 

The Warden campsite was bustling, if a dozen Wardens could be called bustling. At the very least it was busier than it had been earlier in the day. Ri had barely approached it before a human woman approached her.

“Oriana?” she nodded in response. “Good, good, I’ve been looking out for you, thought you’d be back ages ago, I hope Alistair’s not been talking your ear off?”

“Not too much,” Ri was cautious, not knowing yet who was close to Alistair or Duncan, and who might be sharing of her frustrations. “I’m Sierra Lowell, I’m cook for the night and I’ve kept a bowl aside for you, I figured you’d be starving after a day like today.” Ri wanted to protest, to keep herself separate from all these humans, but she could smell warm food and was too hungry to listen to her stubborn Dalish pride.

“That would be amazing, thanks,” she gave a weak smile, allowing the woman to lead her to a central bench, surrounded by the other Wardens. Moments later a huge bowl of steaming hot stew comprising of some sort of meat, some sort of grain, carrots, potatoes, and a good few herbs to give it a little more flavour. It was better fare than Ri had had in a long run and she found herself eagerly tucking in. Conversation flowed freely around her, too many strands for her to be able to pick out any particular voices, but they all seemed happy. Laughter was rife although there was an undercurrent of anxiety and the more Ri listened the more she realised that they were all deliberately not talking about the upcoming battle. Instead they spoke of the places they had been - many of them were not Ferelden born, and had travelled to Ferelden upon Joining. It was hard to take in so many voices, but none of them seemed to expect her to join in. No one or other of them was dominating the conversation with hilarious tales, so either this Simeon was not present, or Alistair’s idea of humour was quite different to that of everyone else in the small corps.

Sierra re-filled her bowl, and Ri numbly ate the second portion, finally sating her hunger, and bringing on the exhaustion she had been keeping at bay.

“You must be shattered,” one of the wardens spoke to her, an elf - she was so surprised to see one of her own kind she merely stared at him for a long moment. It took that long moment for her to realise that he wasn’t quite her type. The lack of vallaslin, and the slightly smaller, flatter ears marked him as one of the city elves, those kept living like animals within in the human towns and cities. Ri shook her head to clear her expression.

“Yes, sorry, yes I am,” she knew her words were slurring a little, but the meaning seemed to come across.

“I’m Athnarel, I’ll show you to the Warden tents. We’ve a few spare beds, so you can take your pick.” Ri wanted to ask him so many questions; about the city-dwelling elves, about his background, but she didn’t have the energy to do much more than to follow him away from the dining area and to a cluster of nearby tents, each one flying the silver and blue griffon banner of the Grey Wardens. There were four large tents, with a smaller one in the centre. “That’s Duncan’s tent, he talks to his seconds in there. They, the Constables and Seniors are in that one. The rest of us are all between these three,” Athnarel finished. “It’s mixed company, I’m afraid; I’m not sure what you’re used to. This one’s the least populated, it’s just the three acolytes at the moment,” he held open the heavy canvas entry way of the furthest tent, lifting up an oil lantern to illuminate the room, showing eight wood-framed beds, three of which had boxes beneath, clothes on top, and in one case, an impressive selection of daggers spread out on the bedspread.

“Any of the empty beds?” Ri asked, amazed at the luxurious quarters.

“Yep, take your pick. I’ll let them know to be quiet when they turn in. Breakfast is shortly before dawn - I’ll ask Isseya to wake you in the morning if you’re not already up.”

“Thank you, Athnarel,” Ri offered, her eyes set on one of the beds the furthest from the door.

“Welcome to the Grey Wardens,” he said warmly, before leaving her in the darkness of the tent. Ri thanked her upbringing that she was used to moving around in the pitch black of night. She worked her way carefully from bed to bed until she got to the one she had been focusing on. Once there she stripped her armour and weapons off once more, shoving the whole bloodied lot under her bed and hoping her new bunk mates didn’t object too heavily to any lingering darkspawn smell.

She was asleep within moments of her head hitting the thin pillow.

 

With the deep sleep came dream after dream, each more vivid than any she had ever had before. She was the great black dragon from her Joining vision, soaring over a great army. Vast swarms of darkspawn, some much bigger than even the hurlocks she had seen, some barely corporeal. They trampled over the uneven ground, making their way around any obstable with sheer determination. What was worse than the vision of so many enemies was the emotion she was getting from the dragon, so much rage, so much need for destruction. She was consumed with the urge to reach out and crush her own troops. The dragon’s troops. It was hard to know where Ri ended and the dragon began. The night sky overhead echoed the darkness that drove the dragon forward, yearning for the taste of blood, the ending of lives.

 

The smallest of noises in the tent caused Ri to pull free of the dream, her eyes opening and her chest heaving as she fought for breath.

Three figures crowded around a flickering lantern the far end of the tent, one turned toward her, a woman with long hair, human, from what she could tell in the low light.

“Oh, hey, did we wake you? Sorry, we were trying to stay quiet,” she spoke across the distance.

“Don’t you remember your first night, Carol,” another female voice scolded. “Nightmares worse than the Harrowing.”

“Poor thing,” Carol sighed, then burst into movement, rushing first to her bed, then approaching Ri and holding out a small vial. “Sleep salve; dab a little on your temples and you’ll sleep without dreams. We’re not supposed to take it during a Blight; they want us to glean what we can from the dreams, but it’s your first night, you deserve a break.”

“I gleaned a whole bunch,” Ri groaned, accepting the bottle and tipping a little of the contents onto her finger tip. “Dragon, whole army of really messed up shit, all moving very intently.” Carol gave a tight smile, taking the bottle back.

“Yeah, that’s about the long and short of it,” she said softly. “Big day tomorrow, get you some good sleep. Issy or I will prod you in the morning.”

“Thanks,” Ri nuzzled her head back into the pillow, amazed at its comfort compared to sleeping roadside as she had been.

“Don’t mention it,” Carol disappeared back to her side of the tent, and Ri slipped into blissful nothingness.

 


	8. Hunger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title track is by Florence + the Machine

“Come on, new girl, wake up,” an insistent voice cut into the darkness, pulling a reluctant Ri from her slumber. “Why didn’t Ath tell me your name? So unhelpful. Wake up, else we’ll miss breakfast.” Ri’s eyes opened, revealing the dim inside of the tent in the pre-dawn darkness. Two oil lanterns were lit, not really doing much in the large area, but it was enough to make out the pale-skinned elf standing over her bed. “How much did you give her, Carol?” she turned to her companion, before looking back at Ri and noting her waking state. “At last! Sorry, newbie, big day, we need to get moving. Ath left some clothes for you, fresh armour - your old stuff will be dealt with after the fighting’s done.”

Ri pushed herself up to sitting, giving the woman a faint smile of thanks. “Breakfast sounds great,” she said lightly, rolling her shoulders back to work out the knots and find out what was a bruise and what was just from the unfamiliar bed. “I’m Ri,” introductions seemed important as she climbed out of the bed and padded to the next bunk where a pile of armour awaited her. It was leather, like her old set, although it was a much thicker, stiffer leather, not the supple, worn halla leather she had spent years moulding to her form. The breastplate bore an engraved metal plate, silver in colour, with blue paint marking the inverse of the griffon design. New leather boots, gloves which extended to cover her arm up to the elbow, and a helmet sat there too, all matching in their design and construction. Finishing the pile was a fresh set of undergarments, clean linens to go under the armour and even a flexible leather band to hold her hair up. Ri couldn’t fault the provisions, even though she knew the new armour would take some getting used to.

“Isseya,” the elf returned. “They’re Carol and Alexander, we’re the magic contingent for the Wardens. Ranulph is our Constable, you’ll probably be under Harald; he’ll be getting his orders from Duncan this morning - you’ll probably have all this explained to you later. Breakfast first!”

The three mages in her tent waited with her as she dressed, standing in a group by the door and talking quietly amongst themselves. As expected, the new armour felt chunky and heavy, but the amount of buckles and ties it had meant Ri could fit it relatively closely. Her old quiver, belts, and holsters had been left, despite the flecks of near-black coloured blood covering them. Ri strapped them over the skirted breastplate, affixing her bow and blades as she hurried through the tent.

 

Sierra was running the soldier’s mess again, dishing out generous portions of sweetened porridge to the milling Wardens. The atmosphere was clearly different this morning, gone was the comfortable laughter and story-telling, and in its place was a nervous energy. Ri could count eighteen Wardens including herself; by far the most Wardens she had seen congregating thus far.

“Ri!” Alistair’s voice hit her first, soon followed by his presence as he pressed through the small throng, a half-empty bowl in his hands. “Almost didn’t recognise you in your new digs. How does it feel?”

“A little strange, but I’ll break it in,” she admitted between mouthfuls, not pausing to savour the warm meal.

“The hunger passes in time,” Alistair grinned. “I was eating double rations after my Joining. Still could, I reckon,” Ri cocked her head slightly to one side as she observed the affable young man. She decided she was probably four or five years older than him, although she wasn’t completely sure, she had never had much cause to study human age progression. “How did you sleep?”

“Better than I had been,” she gave carefully, remembering the mage’s words about not using the dream-suppressant. “The not-dying, semi-pain-free life suits me, but those dreams are nothing to be scoffed at,” for a moment she was afraid she had said too much, given herself away in her half-truth, but Alistair merely nodded sympathetically.

“Yeah, they don’t really get that much better,” he admitted. “You just sort of get used to them. Anyway, eat up - Duncan wants to talk to us in Cailan’s tent.” Ri blinked, very quickly getting the importance of the summons.

“In the King’s tent? How does he have time for us on a day like this?”

“You know Cailan,” Alistair shrugged. “He probably wants to meet you.”

“We met,” Ri frowned. “Yesterday.”

“Oh. Well. Maybe-”

“We should go find out,” Ri finished her food, depositing the bowl on a stack of used bowls, then looking to Alistair expectantly.

“Very eager,” Alistair’s observation irritated Ri. So what if she was eager, she was merely responding to authority. Not that she was comfortable with a shem having authority over her, but the Keeper had sent her with Duncan and she had promised to make her clan proud and- it was complicated. Ri gave no response to the comment; she had to obey Duncan, she had no such instructions when it came to this guy who had only barely been a Grey Warden for two seasons longer than her.

 

“That is enough, Loghain. My decision is final. I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault.” Loud voices emanated from the king’s tent as the two young Wardens approached. Ri paused, but Alistair pressed forward, tapping on the entry flap. A stone-faced guard admitted entry and Ri followed Alistair in, finding the tent very crowded with stern-faced humans. Duncan stood behind a large table, studying the map before him. Two humans stood to one side, an older woman in a simple but smart dress, and man in mage robes, and then there was a gruff noble pacing in the middle of the floor, his pallid face framed by lank black hair, a petulant scowl pulling at his mouth.

And then there was Cailan, immaculately presented in his golden armour and beaming. He greeted the two low-ranking Wardens as if they had as much right to be there as the human advisors, nobles, and the Warden-Commander.

“You risk too much, Cailan!” The dark-haired man, Loghain, retorted. “The darkspawn horde is far too dangerous for you to be playing the hero on the front lines.”

“If that’s the case, perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us, after all.” Cailan argued back, his tone much lighter than the older man’s. Ri kept her face expressionless, holding back her confusion. She glanced sidelong at Alistair to see if he had any opinion, but he looked equally as stoic.

“I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves,” Loghain snarled, pacing as he spoke.

“It’s not a ‘fool notion.’ Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past,” Cailan gave earnestly, before seemingly remembering his position. “And you will remember who is king.” Loghain had turned his back, raising his hand to his forehead as if in despair.

“How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century.” Ri understood the words and the sentiment behind them, but her knowledge of non-Dalish history was lacking, and so she was devoid of the context needed to follow this conversation. She let her eyes wander, alighting on Duncan, who was engrossed in the map, his lips moving slightly as he ran through whatever he was thinking about, his hands making the smallest of gestures around the map. Beside her, Alistair had furrowed his brow, although Ri didn’t know which of the two men he was likely to back in this argument.

“Duncan, are your men ready for battle?” Ri missed a bit, but as Duncan’s head jolted upright to face his king, she resumed her concentration.

“They are, your Majesty,” he answered, then nodded towards where Ri and Alistair stood.

“Ah, this must be the recruit I met yesterday on your arrival,” Cailan spoke directly to Ri. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Ri ducked her head in a quick show of deference, getting no sign from Duncan as to whether she had made the right move or not. She didn’t feel worthy of any congratulations; all she had done was to survive, and that seemed to be a matter of dumb luck rather than skill.

“Every Grey Warden is needed now. You should be honoured to join their ranks,” Cailan continued, before Loghain erupted.

“Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. We must attend to reality.”

“Fine. Speak your strategy. The Grey Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines, and then what?” Even Ri could see that Cailan’s attempt at reason wasn’t going to end well.

“You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signalling my men to charge from cover,” Loghain moved to the table, pointing at certain locations on the map.

“To flank the darkspawn, I remember,” Cailan joined him. “This is the Tower of Ishal, in the ruins, yes? Who shall light this beacon?”

“I have a few men stationed there. It’s not a dangerous task, but it is vital.” Ri marvelled at how smoothly Loghain had turned the king’s head, how suddenly he was calling the shots. She looked back to Alistair for a moment, looking to see his reaction to this turn of events, but the Warden was unreadable once more.

“We should send our best,” Cailan mused, his face splitting into a broad grin as he turned to look at Ri and Alistair. “Duncan, would you send Alistair and your new Warden to make sure it is done?”

“You rely on these Grey Wardens too much. Is that truly wise?” That must be it, Ri deduced; Loghain resented Cailan’s hero worship of Duncan and the Grey Warden legacy, and wanted the glory of battle for himself.

“Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain. Grey Wardens battle the Blight, no matter where they’re from.”

“Your Majesty,” Duncan spoke up, his words careful and considered. “You should consider the possibility of the archdemon appearing.”

“There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds,” Loghain dismissed the idea.

“Isn’t that what you’re here for, Duncan?” Cailan looked up for support.

“I- yes, your Majesty,” Ri bit back a smirk. Duncan clearly wasn’t here for this infighting and politics.

“Your Majesty,” the male mage stepped forward. “The tower and its beacons are unnecessary. The Circle of Magi-” the woman interjected almost immediately.

“We will not trust any lives to your spells, mage! Save them for the darkspawn,” she insisted. Ri’s head whirled at the amount of infighting amongst Cailan’s inner council. This was why the Dalish Keepers were chosen from the clan elders; there was no way Keeper Marethari would have allowed any of her clan members to bicker this way, especially on the eve of battle.

“Enough!” Loghain slammed his fist onto the table; a surprisingly kingly action. “This plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon.”

“Thank you, Loghain. I cannot wait for that glorious moment! The Grey Wardens ride in to battle beside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!” Cailan was smiling ear to ear, and for a moment Ri found herself wondering whether he was mad. He seemed utterly consumed with the idea of the Wardens as heroes, rather than accepting the reality of the two dozen nightmare-driven failed-thieves, former-templars, and whatever other types of people Ri’s new brothers and sisters were. No wonder the Grey Wardens kept themselves secret - with the veil they had drawn over themselves they had managed to hoodwink a king into hero worship.

“You are all dismissed,” Cailan waved them away. “Duncan, get your Wardens up to speed. We muster on the first alert, head out on the second.”

 

Ri and Alistair waited dutifully, then followed Duncan out of the tent. They walked in silence back to the Warden camp, which had cleared out of the breakfast rush. Three Wardens approached Duncan immediately, clearly anticipating orders.

“We ride out this morning,” he relayed. “Muster on the first, move on the second. Gather your teams and make ready. Alistair and Oriana have a separate mission, they will be heading out imminently.” The constables nodded their understanding and set off at a jog toward the tents and sparring grounds.

“You heard the plan,” Duncan addressed the two newest recruits. “You two will head east to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit. Once you reach the top of the tower keep an eye to the battle field. When the host of darkspawn have finished entering the valley, that is when you should light the beacon.”

“Yet again I will not be in the battle,” Alistair was angry. Ri stared at him in surprise at seeing this new side of the generally calm and obedient Warden. “I have been told to sit out the last three encounters with the darkspawn. Am I not up to scratch as a Warden? Or is there some other reason I am to be excluded? A reason which will never be going away. Surely you cannot mean to keep me from battle permanently?” Once more Ri was excluded from the conversation due to her relative naiveté in all things shem. There was clearly something going on here, something she had no knowledge of or context for.

“This is by the king’s personal request, Alistair,” Duncan refused to be drawn on the matter. “If the beacon is not lit, teyrn Loghain’s men won’t know when to charge.”

“So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch. Just in case, right? You know this isn’t fair, he’s punishing me for who I am.” Ri looked between the two men, silently debating whether to offer to go alone, or whether the argument was futile as Duncan had clearly decided to abide by the king’s orders.

“You both appear armed and ready to go. Unless there are any other objections you shall set off immediately. You’ll need to head across the gorge and out through the east gate. The path will veer to the left up to the tower’s entrance. From the top of the tower you should overlook the entire valley. I will signal when the time is right, Alistair you know what to look for. If you miss the signal then you should look to the valley’s edge and make the call. I will send word if there are any further tasks for you, otherwise you shall stay with the teyrn’s men and guard the tower. This is a great responsibility and your performance will reflect upon the Grey Wardens, not just yourselves. I expect you to be worthy of that title. Once the battle is over we shall have a conversation, Alistair. Be waiting in my tent once the fighting is done.” It was clearly not the resolution Alistair had expected, he looked quite dejected as their orders were clearly laid out.

“May the Maker watch over you,” Alistair gave, a sullen tone to his voice.

“May He watch over us all,” Duncan returned gravely, dismissing them as he turned and started walking away.

 

Ri looked from her retreating Commander to the red-haired Warden stood miserably beside her.

“I won’t ask,” she said simply. “Well, I mean, I do have questions, not least about some of your bizarre human terms. I assume the Maker is one of your new-fangled Chantry gods? Either way, I have no interest in your arguments with Duncan.”

“Good to hear,” Alistair groused. “I have no interest in talking about it.”

“Then we’re going to be just fine,” Ri shrugged. “East gate?” She led the way, relying more on the sun’s position than any knowledge of the camp’s layout.

“You’re chirpier today,” Alistair observed coolly.

“I’m not relying on a potion to keep me on my feet,” Ri shrugged. “Imminent prospect of death tends to make a girl grouchy.”

“I bet Carol’s elixir didn’t hurt either,” Ri’s light demeanour faded as she waited for the threat or dressing down that was sure to follow. “Not denying it?” Alistair pressed, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

“You knew?” Ri breathed out a sigh of relief. “That was mean! How did you know?”

“They always put new recruits in with the mages, and Carol’s a compulsive healer. I had the elixir every other night for my first two weeks as a Warden. I don’t think you’ll be quite so lucky.” The bridge over the gorge was busy, messengers were running to and fro, squires were hauling weapons, armour, and supplies, and one harrassed looking stablehand rushed across leading four horses in each hand.

“Duncan’s not like any of the other of the king’s advisors,” Ri ventured carefully. Alistair immediately closed down a little.

“He does well enough.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. It’s more the whole fetching new recruits, taking the two most inexperienced Wardens in to meet the King without a second thought. But then the king’s not quite like I expected either.”

“Well Cailan’s the only king we’ve got, so we just have to deal with it,” Alistair was grumpy again. They had just passed the halfway point of the bridge when a distant gong sounded, a soft reminder of the battle they were about to sit out.

“Come on,” Ri sighed. “Dalish, remember. Severe lack of context of anything outside of my own people’s history. What am I missing here? At least tell me why the king’s so obsessed with the Grey Wardens?”

“His father was the one who invited the Grey Wardens back into Ferelden after they had been banished for two hundred years,” Alistair recited as if in history class.

“So it’s a family pride thing as much as heroes from a better time? And Loghain?”

“He and Duncan were friends with King Maric,” Alistair looked sidelong at Ri for a long moment, before heaving a sigh. “Right, so Loghain is the teyrn of Gwaren. Teyrns are second only to the king and there are two of them; Loghain in Gwaren and Cousland in Highever way up north. Under the teyrns are the arls. There are a whole bunch of arls, each answering to the teyrn closest to where they are. Then there are banns, again, lesser nobles who report upward to the arls.”As he spoke they passed through the outer guard and started along the gently rising path. The top of the tower could just about be seen through the canopy of the trees that covered the large hill.

“Well that’s mighty complicated,” Ri gave simply, trying to commit the hierarchy to memory.

“How do you do it then?” Alistair seemed genuinely intrigued, rather than challenging her to beat his people’s form of self-government.

“Keeper’s in charge, everyone else has a job and does that job. There are Masters who keep the most important knowledge and ensure it’s passed down to the right people.”

“What was your job?”

“Hunter. I would get food for the clan, and see off anyone not in the clan that got too close.”

“And what about the other Dalish?” Ri shrugged.

“Their Keeper’s in charge, everyone has a job. That’s about it. Sometimes people leave one clan to go looking for another, particularly if we’d seen signs of other clans nearby. Otherwise we all kept to ourselves. Best way for it. Aren’t there any other Dalish Wardens?”

“Not at the moment. I think Ath was from Highever, not that he ever speaks of life in the alienage. Issy came from the Circle. Ceci and Bastien came from Orlais, and Liev is Antivan.” Frowning, Ri slowed her pace a little.

“What is life like, in the alienages?” she asked tentatively. The question threw Alistair as he quietly slowed to match his speed with hers.

“I don’t know,” he gave after a while. “I haven’t lived in a city in half my life, and I don’t think Redcliffe was quite like the bigger cities. I think it’s not good,” he admitted, looking decidedly uncomfortable, as if he didn’t like talking about it.

“So who does get a good time of it in your world?” Ri asked, her voice steady and conversational, but with a cold barb to it. “My kind are confined to these ‘not good’ alienages, or live our lives on the move, keeping out of your way. Mages are controlled or hunted to death. Seems it’s just you humans who get to enjoy yourselves.”

“It’s not that simple,” Alistair protested. “Some of us humans have a tough time of it.”

“Really? What was your life like before you started training to be a mage-killer?” As the argument had started, the two newest Wardens had picked up their paces once more, marching angrily along the woodland path, neither one looking at the other.

“What would you like to hear?” he answered softly. “That I’m some pampered human who grew up under the care of the Arl of Redcliffe? That I was working in the stables as soon as I could lift a broom? Or that my mother died when I was born and I never met my father?”

“All are true?” Ri asked, struggling to see how the three puzzle pieces fit together. What would human nobility want with an orphaned stableboy. She snuck a quick look at Alistair’s face, seeing nothing but stoic focus on their path, then turned her head forwards once more. “Sounds complicated,” she offered, unwilling to cave completely and admit that he’d had it rough, but not quite callous enough to dismiss his fragmented story.

“I didn’t choose to go to the Chantry,” he continued. “And you’ll see, I didn’t actually turn out to be a fully fledged templar.”

“But you were there long enough to subscribe to their thinking on magic?” Ri frowned. “You thought Morrigan was going to turn you into a frog.”

“She had that sort of a look in her eyes,” Alistair deflected, his desperate attempt at humour a clear plea that this conversation end.

“It that why the Warden mages are stuck in their own tent? You’re all frightened of them?”

“No, it’s not like that at all-” Alistair was quick to answer, but slow to back his protestations up with any reasoning. “Look, can we just agree to disagree for now? Maybe once you’ve been a Warden a little longer you’ll change your mind about a few things?”

“Maybe I won’t,” Ri scowled. They walked in silence for almost thirty seconds before she pushed again, annoyed at his condescension. “Why won’t they let you fight? You’re clearly capable of swinging that sword around, what’s the story there?”

“Maker’s breath!” Alistair cursed. “I think I preferred you when you were dying.”

“That’s a horrid thing to say,” Ri scolded.

“Yes, it was rather. I didn’t quite mean it like that. Just that you were a lot less picky yesterday, but then I suppose you were rather distracted with Daveth,” his voice wavered a little at the end as if he was regretting starting talking.

“Shut up,” Ri snapped, her eyes forward.

“Alright, alright-” Ri thrust her arm out to the side, hitting Alistair in the arm and stopping him in his tracks.

“Do you smell burning?” she hissed. “Listen.” They stood still, without the sound of their footfalls, and Alistair’s plate armour clinking. Through the silence Ri could hear voices; shouting voices.

“We should hurry,” Alistair whispered. “Be ready.” Ri wanted to snipe back that she was always ready, but the time for bickering had ended.

 

Rounding the corner at the top of the hill at speed, Ri finally found herself able to see the base of the tower. There was definitely a lot more fire than Ri had been expecting.

A low rumble in the sky sounded ominously. Ri looked up through the trees and saw grey clouds to the west, dark enough to possibly be a nearing thunderstorm. Or perhaps something a little less mundane. Either way, a little rain might help things out, she figured, squinting to make out what was happening. A figure was running toward them; human and in ornate armour, Cailan’s crest on their chest.

“You there, you’re Grey Wardens, aren’t you? Maker be praised. The tower - The tower’s been taken!” A woman’s voice, Ri glanced at her, seeing dark hair poking out from the back of her helmet, so black it seemed almost blue. She had a bold red mark across the bridge of her nose, and held a massive double-headed axe in her hands.

“What are you talking about? Taken how?” Alistair led in the necessary conversing whilst Ri looked around, her eyes scanning the treeline for any sign of movement.

“The darkspawn came up through the lower chambers. They’re everywhere! Most of our men our dead,” the guard’s frantic explanation made Ri’s blood run cold. Darkspawn incursion was not part of their plans, and as much as she relished the idea of a fight, she was painfully aware that their mission was time critical.

“The beacon,” she hissed.

“We have to get up there,” Alistair agreed.

“Who do you have left?” Ri asked as they all started running toward the tower.

“Me and one of the Circle mages, I’m Hawke, he’s Riggs,” as they arrived at the foot of the tower Ri realised the fire was all coming from one mage; fireball after fireball into the open gateway. “They’re Wardens,” Hawke shouted, announcing their arrival to the mage. As soon as Ri drew close she felt something strange, a sort of tugging in her belly at the same time as a crackling sensation in her head; somewhere between a sound and a feeling.

“Is that-”

“Darkspawn,” Alistair confirmed. The sky rumbled once more, sounding more like thunder this time, and closer than it had before.

“Three, that I can see, but more for sure,” Riggs nodded his head toward the opening.

“What’s our layout?” Alistair asked, as the mage shot another fireball.

“There’s a large courtyard through there - it’s where we were stationed before we were driven back. Some storage and supplies, some scaffolding we were using as look out points when we figured any threats were coming from without, otherwise not much at all. The entrance to the tower is around to the right, up a couple of stone stairways,” Hawke’s explanation was accompanied with hand gestures which seemed to mean more to Alistair than Ri.

“Good, right, this is what we do; Hawke - you and I will go first, Ri and Riggs several paces behind providing covering fire. We move forward until we find the enemy, then ranged fighters take cover, swords up front.” Ri found herself surprised at just how much Alistair had been holding back when they had been venturing out in the Korcari Wilds.

“Lead on,” the mage lowered his hands, stopping the suppressing fire. Ri took a deep breath, stilling the queasiness her darkspawn-awareness was causing. Alistair and Hawke moved together, heading toward the narrow doorway and the certain danger lying within.


	9. Rolling Thunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title by Laura Marling

As the army of four crept slowly forward, there was an uncomfortable lack-of-silence. The wake of Riggs’ fireballs had left a few small fires which crackled and snapped. Another roll of thunder shook the very foundations of the outer walls of the tower. Lightning snaked across the sky almost immediately after the rumble, sending strange shadows out from the various constructs, before disappearing back into the dull grey. Ri found herself looking between Alistair and Riggs to see if either Warden or mage had any opinions on the fast-growing storm, but neither reacted strongly to it. There didn’t really seem time to debate the weather, so Ri remained silent and hoped any rain might hold off until they were inside. She had never been the most competent archer in the pouring rain.

From the front, Alistair stuck one hand in the air, stopping their progress. Ri felt the sensation of otherness wash over her again; the stomach clenching brain buzz that she now knew meant darkspawn were nearby. Alistair turned his head and met her eyes, then looked at Riggs, he pointed at a crate directly in front of them as the path turned a sharp right. Their cover, Ri presumed. She nodded, pulling two arrows from her quiver. A moment passed, then Alistair gave the signal to Hawke, the two warriors running forward. Ri and Riggs followed suit, running straight across the corner and to their safe place.

Once behind the large boxes, they assessed the situation; Ri could see a group of six genlocks, all immediately drawn to the two warriors charging them. Two of the genlocks had crossbows, so she targeted her first two arrows at one of those, noting Riggs send a blast of hot red flame at the other. Their attacks were returned in the form of heavy bolts thudding into the wooden chests, each one causing Ri to give a wide grin as she delighted in knowing she was drawing fire from the two human tanks who were barrelling through the small cluster of genlocks.

As Ri glanced from her prey toward her fellow Grey Warden she saw the unnoticed genlock sneaking up behind him. Without any thought she raised her bow and shot an arrow straight into the side of its gruesome head, before ducking away behind the crate before the next bolt whistled past, narrowly missing the tip of her ear. When she next peered round she saw Alistair stamping an armour-clad boot into the genlock, pushing it to the ground before running his sword through it. She thought she saw him glance over at her, but didn’t have time to register it as another roll of thunder crashed over them. A fork of lightning split the air, drawing her vision upward, and a large, fat droplet of rain burst upon her nose.

“Shit,” Ri cursed, shaking her head to dislodge the water, and feeling further droplets hitting the top of her head. She shot another two arrows toward the crossbow-armed genlock, feeling a warming sense of relief as it fell to the ground. She joined the mage in his attack on the other crossbow wielder, then moved out of cover to provide aid to Alistair and Hawke. Shooting as she walked, Ri pinned one genlock to the spot with a particularly lucky shot through its calf and into a crack between the stones on the ground. Hawke spun and attacked, her axe ripping a hole in the creature’s stomach that quickly felled it as Alistair finished slaying the other remaining foe. Despite the chill in the air, Ri felt a small fire within her along fuelling her desire to hunt more of the fell beasts.

“What are these monsters?” Hawke cried, clearly more distressed than the rest of the party.

“Darkspawn,” Ri sighed, looking curiously at the mage. “Why aren’t you more freaked out, Riggs?”

“Saw some rough shit during my Harrowing,” he shrugged, as if that would explain everything. Alistair was nodding solemnly, showing that he got the reference, leaving Ri once again in the dark. A silent rage festered within her that she was a member of the fabled Grey Wardens and still had no idea of what went on in the wider world.

“We should keep moving,” she snapped, as the rain fell heavier. “Unless you all want to rust out here,” Alistair gave her a puzzled look, before nodding his head in agreement.

“Ri’s right,” he admitted easily. “We continue. How far to the stairs, Hawke?”

“Not far, round this next corner, then it’s the first rise, a left turn and the second rise to the tower door.”

“Brilliant. Let’s go,”

 

They had barely turned the corner when Alistair stopped them once more. “At least half a dozen on the stairs,” he reported back. “Everyone ready to charge?”

“Or-” Ri started, looking around for cover. “Or I go over there;” she pointed toward a large wooden scaffold, “I fire into the group - more genlocks?”

“Mostly, at least one hurlock.”

“Right, well I fire into the group in the hope of drawing some of them out this way; we take them out before heading in to the rest of them.”

“Worth a shot,” Alistair looked quickly between Hawke and Riggs, finding no objections and nodding to Ri. “On you then,” he gave the smallest slip of a smile, which Ri returned. As much as she was driven by the urgent need to get to the top of the tower and light the beacon, Ri couldn’t help but to enjoy the adrenaline of the fight. She took one last look at the three men, then focused on the scaffolding, remembering all the times in the forest when she had moved silently, unnoticed by even the most skittish of prey. She waited for the next thunder clap, then ran lightly across the path, hoping the rain helped obscure her. Once over, instead of ducking in behind the scaffold, she thought better of the idea. Confidently she scaled the structure, crouching on the top as she edged closer to the front, looking to catch sight of the monsters ahead.

There they were - six more genlocks, and two monstrous hurlocks. Ri lined up the larger of the two hurlocks in her sights, then readied a second arrow on her bent knee. She shot quickly, first to the hurlock, then a second arrow more indiscriminately into the group of genlocks at the top of the stairs. Expecting return fire, she ducked behind a large thick wooden post, looking down at her companions and offering them a thumbs up.

Peering back down, Ri counted three genlocks descending the stairs, whilst the others paced angrily, glaring through the grey rain to try to find their attacker. Ri looked back to Alistair and held up three fingers, before holding her two hands together in an attempt to define ‘small’ rather than the large hurlocks. Alistair frowned at her, not fully understanding her sign language. She rolled her eyes as he ducked back into cover to await their prey.

The ambush went well; the two warriors leapt out first, taking two genlock down pretty easily whilst Ri and Riggs killed the third with a barrage of arrows and magic. Ri looked back to the stairway to see one of the hurlocks was on its way down. She whistled, catching Alistair’s attention, and then lifting her forefinger to show a one, then pointed toward the stairs. He nodded, gathering the attention of the two humans with him, whilst Ri stepped out from behind her post, sending an arrow toward the hurlock. It bounced off of the large beast’s armour, not seeming to register at all. She scowled, tucking a rain-wet strand of loose hair behind her ear. Still standing in the open, Ri saw one of the remaining genlocks lift a crossbow, and she immediately ducked back into cover. A bolt skittered harmlessly across the wooden platform - clearly she was out of range, a fact she decided to make the most of as she stepped out once more, levelling her longbow at the shooter, and letting off a relentless stream of arrows steadily perforating its armour. It looked back, seemingly wanting to retreat, but the hurlock beside it roared an order, and the genlock started moving forward. It was dead before it reached the bottom of the stairs.

A glance to the side showed the hurlock facing Alistair, Hawke and Riggs was on its knees, so Ri decided not to hold back, loosing more arrows into the remaining darkspawn. Both of the genlocks were peppered with arrows, staggering rather than storming forward as Alistair and Hawke ran to meet them. The hurlock roared once - a deep sound cut off early as both Ri and Riggs aimed for its exposed throat. Burning and perforated by arrows, it fell to the ground, taking a few more shots from the two ranged fighters before it stopped groaning and moving.

 

Ri climbed down from her post as quickly as she could, reclaiming arrows from the corpses strewn along the path to the tower steps.

“Good work,” Alistair praised her, the words not seeming to contain the patronising overtones Ri had come to expect from humankind.

“Won’t work in there,” she nodded toward the large stone tower. Reluctantly she swapped her bow for her blades. Her armour was slightly less sturdy then that of the two warriors; more designed for stealth and ease-of-movement than taking heavy blows. At least it was more substantial than the mage robes Riggs wore, although that was likely imbued with defensive magic. She looked up at the tower, then around at her three companions. Used to fighting in the open forests, and with only a single elf by her side, the prospect of close-quarters battle was a little unnerving. Heaving a sigh, Ri removed the quiver and bow from her back and deposited them gently against the short pillar at the top of the stairs. “They’ll only get in the way,” she explained, testing the balance of her curved blades. “We’re getting them on the way back down though. That bow’s pretty special to me.” Absentmindedly she rubbed the fox ring on her finger, feeling it’s ever-present warmth and the blessing of Keeper Marethari. Her accursed blood-filled pendant hung heavily around her neck and she thought of Daveth, of Tamlen, and of the crowd of Dalish and Wardens lost to the various evils over the years. They all stood behind her, each one living a moment more in each of her victories.

“Let’s go,” she hadn’t meant to give the order, but no one challenged her words. Alistair and Hawke pushed through the doors and the battle began.

 

The ground floor of the tower was rank with the stench of darkspawn. Any furniture which had once stood had been hacked into defensive barricades, across the large room. Human bodies were strewn around the room, causing all four to stop in their tracks.

“Maker’s breath,” Hawke grimaced.

“Where are they coming from?” Alistair asked, somehow managing to keep his mind in the face of so much slaughter.

“They dug their way in through the basement,” Riggs muttered.

“What’s down in the basement?”

“That’s where the mabari were stationed - there’s a door to the outside, and all the kennels are down there,” Riggs looked to Hawke for further answers.

“We should go down there,” Hawke spoke, clearly not meaning her words. “We need to block up the hole. The hounds would help, if they’re still alive. Maker, I hope he’s still alive,” she trailed off.

“We have to head on up,” Ri spoke softly. “The beacon.”

“Go,” Riggs met her eyes, knowing his words likely spelled death for all of them, but also that there was no other way. “Hawke and I will go get the dogs and hold off any new waves. You two get to the beacon,” Ri almost reached out to touch the mage’s hand, but held back.

“Maker watch over you,” Alistair had a steely cold look on his face as he gave a solemn nod to Hawke and Riggs.

“And you,” the two tower guards disappeared through a side door, leaving the two young Wardens alone.

“You didn’t want to miss the battle,” Ri offered lightly, no humour in her words.

“I’m beginning to regret kicking up a fuss,” Alistair returned, his voice equally flat.

“Upstairs to the inevitable awfulness that awaits?”

“Whyever not?” There was the smallest hint of a smile, then it was back to business.

 

The stairs up to the first floor were slick with blood, and Ri’s darkspawn senses were clamouring furiously in her head and chest. Even before they reached the top of the stairs she saw feet at the top; the darkspawn aware of her, rushing down to start the fight. She hugged the right hand wall as Alistair took the left, each focused on the fight as they cleared the path up stairs, facing a further half dozen darkspawn at the top.

It was pure chaos, Ri caught glimpses of part-devoured humans on the floor, not stopping her fight long enough to truly look at any individual lest the horror of the sight stop her in her tracks. The occasional flash of blue and silver reassured her that Alistair was still with her. In that instant her biggest fear was his falling and the knowledge that alone she had next to no chance of getting to the top of the tower. There were just too many darkspawn holed up in there, seemingly also driven upward.

Ri danced through the monsters, ducking and diving with a desperate fury, her blades jabbing out wherever she saw a point of weakness. There was thick darkspawn blood everywhere, reminding Ri of what she had imbibed only the night before. All the same, as the next genlock fell, Ri found herself spitting out the blood which had sprayed her face, using the back of her leather fingerless gloves to clear her eyes.

“Is that all of them?” Alistair asked, partly hidden behind a pile of genlocks.

“For the time being,” Ri looked around the room, unable to tell fallen friend from fallen foe. “More upstairs. Why are they up there?”

“I don’t know,” the redheaded Warden admitted easily. Ri pushed past the bodies, silently marvelling at his open nature - even among her elvhen family she would have come up with some sort of guess; anything rather than appearing ignorant. Yet, somehow, there was nothing ignorant in how Alistair came across.

 

The first floor seemed to be populated with living areas - weapons storage, although it had been cleared out, presumably by the men and women who had already perished in defending the tower. A small larder was in the process of being ransacked by a genlock. Alistair and Ri quickly put the creature down, then each grabbed a full water pouch, drinking deep before proceeding. The darkspawn were in the main corridors, so the two Wardens slipped through the back rooms, knowing they made their return path all the more dangerous as they left enemies in the exit route, but their unspoken agreement was that they get to the top at all costs. Their retreat was second in importance after reaching the summit and lighting the beacon.

There were two sets of stairs up to the second floor. Ri and Alistair took the clear back stairs rather than risking the main corridors. The thin staircase had no room for them to walk side by side, so Alistair took the lead, his shield up in front of him. Ri knew they were surrounded by darkspawn even before they emerged from the top of the stairs in a small storage room. She met Alistair’s eyes in the near-dark and gave a grim smile.

“Let’s do this,” she whispered.

More genlock awaited them. One hurlock, but it looked uncomfortably cramped in the low-ceilinged human rooms, and although it put up a fight it couldn’t get the chance to raise its hammer before Ri and Alistair cut it down. There was no finesse to their fighting; no thought for anything but staying alive. Ri found herself kicking, elbowing, shoving to get the genlocks away from her as she made space to hack at them with her blades. There was no link between the artful fighting styles she had once learned, and this desperate struggle for survival. At some point something had struck her; Ri could feel the previous day’s bruises throbbing in renewed pain, the back of her neck felt warm and wet, but she didn’t dare raise her hand to her head lest she find something serious. Staggering a little, she gasped for breath, then resumed her attack, angry at having let her guard down.

 

“You hurt?” Ri asked, between skirmishes, as she noticed Alistair limp toward the next stairwell.

“Only as much as you,” he shot back, his words belying his pain. “Come on, the beacon should be just through there,” Ri looked up the stairs to the double doors at the top.

“Maybe the darkspawn decided to quit at this point,” she suggested weakly, looking at the stairs and seeing both an insurmountable mountain, and a place she could sit for a moment. If only there was a moment to be had.

“We can but hope,” Alistair returned, seeming equally as reluctant to move.

“Come on then, before we start to rust,” she pushed herself forward, not waiting for Alistair to follow. They reached the doors together, each putting one hand on the heavy wood, then pushing hard - flinging the two doors wide open.

“Well, at least there’s only one of them,” Alistair quipped, as Ri stared in horror at the gargantuan ogre standing between them and the unlit beacon.

“How did it even get up the stairs?” she cried, lifting her blades and realising it would be a reach to even get close to the creature’s shoulders, let alone to get to its head.

 

Immediately the Wardens split, moving somewhat slower than they would were they not both injured. Ri kept low, just in case the ogre’s vision was movement-based. The monster turned toward her and started to charge. Ri couldn’t help but to let out a cry as she dove aside, jolting her already pained ribs. The ogre had long spikes on its forearm braces, and thick studded armour on its shoulders and hips, but there was a lot of leathery skin on display. Two massive curled and branching horns erupted from its head, Ri got a close look at these as it charged past; using the horns as a battering ram.

“Hey!” Ri groaned as she heard Alistair’s shout from the other side of the room, calling the ogre’s attention. His plan worked, and the massive beast turned a wide circle, then starting a lumbering charge toward the other Warden. Ri shakily rose to her feet, pulling two crushed elfroot leaves from her pocket and pushing them into her mouth. The pain dulled a little as she ran up behind the crouching ogre, leaping up as high as she could and stabbing the two knives into its back and holding on to them. There would be no losing blades this time. She pulled herself up as the ogre straightened, roaring in pain, then pulled one knife out and stabbed it higher up, clambering between the massive armour plates.

Alistair saw opportunity and took his own shot, thrusting his sword upward under the ogre’s head. He didn’t so much as step out of its way as stumble awkwardly as the beast fell to its knees, then pitched forward. Clinging on desperately, Ri rode the ogre as it slumped onto the ground.

“That probably could have looked better,” she admitted, panting heavily. With great effort she hauled her knives out of the large body.

“I’ll be sure to embellish it when I tell people,” Alistair offered.

“That would be appreciated,” Ri slid to the floor, the blades almost slipping from her hands as she found her footing. “So, the beacon?”

“Through here,” Alistair gestured, and the two weary fighters crossed the tower’s top floor to a balcony. The breeze was cold and refreshing, bringing a fresh spray of rain which Ri hoped might miraculously wash her face clean of blood and sweat. The thunder rolled somewhere in the distance, interspersed with flickers of lightning.

Looking down from the tower Ri could see all the way down into the valley where the two armies were clashing; indistinguishable dots fighting against indistinguishable dots.

“They’re all in the valley, we missed our mark,” Alistair worried. The beacon was housed in a large cast iron basin, with an immense hood over the top to keep it sheltered from all but the worst weather.

“Here,” Ri pulled a small vial of orange liquid from a box beside the beacon. “I guess this is-”

“Fire starter,” Alistair nodded. “Smash it into the bowl, there should be enough fuel in there for our purposes.” With some small satisfaction, Ri dashed the vial upon the pile of logs, smiling as it burst into hungry orange and yellow flames.

 

“They’re coming,” Ri’s voice was small, her knowledge of the darkspawn now a death knell, where it had once been useful.

“I know,” Alistair returned, sounding as exhausted as she felt. They walked together back into the top floor of the tower, looking around the room for anything that might give them the upper hand. A tiny ray of hope flared within Ri that perhaps Hawke, Riggs, and the mabari were on their way up, or that they might have taken out any further darkspawn in the tower and it was only a few stragglers setting off her new senses.

 

The first genlocks appeared, crushing her hope as they scrambled up the stairs. Ri lifted her blades once more. She had no witty aside to throw at Alistair, as he seemingly had nothing clever of his own to say. Instead she let out a low, gutteral growl, meeting the first genlock head on, blade hitting blade as she tried to muster the strength to take yet more lives, if the accursed darkspawn could really be considered to be living.

Ri found herself being pushed back into the room, stumbling over boxes and crates as she tried to stem the onslaught. She heard Alistair cry out in pain, a distraction that almost cost her everything as she barely reacted in time to the forceful swing of the rough hewn metal sword crashing toward her. Ducking out of the way, Ri felt the blade scrape down her left arm, grating angrily against the thin armour plating.

Angry, and more than that; scared, Ri fought her way round the room to Alistair, his shield held low, but his sword arm still fighting.

“Don’t you give up on me,” she demanded, kicking wildly at the genlock trailing her.

“I’m trying not to,” Alistair grunted, disemboweling his genlock, as yet another crawled up out of the stairwell.

“We just need to plug the way in,” Ri insisted. “Come on! We can do this.” She stepped forward, pushing the genlock back with her swords, grunting angrily as she did. It fell, and she kicked at the corpse, rolling the creature back, only to face another genlock climbing into the room, and another following that, carrying a familiar bow.

“No,” Ri gasped, seeing her own bow, crafted by Master Ilen, wielded only by her own two hands, now in the messy grip of the enemy. She tried to make a lunge for it, but the nearest genlock booted her in the side, sending her sprawling to the floor, fresh bursts of pain in her side. The agony was intense, Ri couldn’t do much more than crawl as she tried to put space between her position and the enemy. The genlock bore down on her, its weapon at the ready, until Alistair’s sword cut between them, pushing the genlock off to one side. Ri tried to whisper a thanks, but it was taking all her strength to push herself up onto her hands and knees. The constant crunching and slapping of feet against stone slabs was a devastating herald of genlock after genlock as their numbers swelled.

Alistair fell first, elvhen master-crafted arrows pinning him through the shoulder to a fallen genlock. Moments later an arrow thudded through Ri’s armour, the pain sudden and all-encompassing. Her hands slipped from beneath her and she fell flat to the floor, her eyes closing as she welcomed her death.


	10. New Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title taken from a song by the brilliant Delta Rae

Darkness gave way to nightmarish dreams, Ri was seeing through the eyes of darkspawn, experiencing their hunger, their desperation as they feasted on fallen soldiers. She could taste human flesh, could feel their bones breaking under her ravenous bites. Their blood was warm as it trickled down her throat. The part of her that was still Ri was horrified at the flash of blue and silver out of the corner of her eye. A fallen Warden. Over in the other direction was blood-spattered gold; one of the king’s own battalion. Everyone was dead, and in the dreamscape she was overwhelmed with a feeling of glee. This was what they had been working toward. This feast was their reward; a momentary release from their endless hunger.

Then movement, marching north, storming through every village and dwelling that lay in the way. All the human screams quickly melted into one constant sound as Ri embodied the whole darkspawn contingent.

 

Suddenly there was peace. The smell of food cooking, of medicinal herbs and something floral. Ri could feel her own body once more, her eyelids opened at her command and there was light. She was inside someone’s home, there were skins on the walls, tables piled high with books and half-burned candles. A vase of fresh flowers sat on the windowsill, and a low fire burned in the fireplace, heating a large black pot.

Morrigan stood at the bookshelf, righting fallen tomes and making slow process in clearing the tables. As Ri watched, the witch picked up another book and opened it, spending a long moment perusing one of the pages before placing it on the shelf. Ri felt a stab of jealousy; her clan had never deemed it important for her to read the human language. She knew how to leave signals in the forest warning of the various dangers, or pointing toward fresh water, but the furious scribblings of the wider world meant absolutely nothing to her.

“Ah, your eyes finally open, Mother shall be pleased,” the witch smiled, approaching the bed as Ri sat up, finding herself clad only in a plain linen shift. She felt naked without the familiar weight of her armour, not something that would have bothered her had she been with her clan, but in this unfamiliar place she felt quite vulnerable.

“What happened? This is your house? Where’s Alistair?” her voice was croaky, but it seemed to come back to normal with use as the stream of words fell out of her.

“Slower,” Morrigan counselled. “One at a time, otherwise my answers shall make no sense.”

“What happened at the tower?” Ri asked, starting from the last point she could remember.

“You were injured, and then Mother rescued you,” came the simple response.

“Did the beacon work? Did the teyrn’s men drive back the darkspawn?” Ri knew as she asked that the darkspawn had won the battle, but she allowed herself a momentary indulgence of hope.

“The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle, not one person survived.”

“And Alistair? What of him?”

“The suspicious, dim-witted one who was with you before? Yes, he is outside, he has not taken the news quite so well. One other did survive, I believe they came here in search of you.” Ri frowned, she couldn’t think for a moment who Morrigan might have meant. That Alistair was alive at least meant she wasn’t alone. He might have some idea of what to do next or where to go. “Mother asked to see you when you awoke. Are you ready to go to her?”

“Thank you,” Ri gave, earnest in her gratitude. “Thank you for saving us.”

“I-” the very concept seemed to stump Morrigan. Ri wondered when the last time anyone had thanked the wild witch might have been. Not recently if Alistair and Daveth’s reactions were anything to follow. She felt a stab of regret as she thought of Daveth, and of how much easier it might have been had a third Warden survived. “You are welcome,” Morrigan continued. “’Though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer.”

“Is she outside with Alistair?” Ri pushed herself up to standing, allowing a momentary silent pride in her own ability to stand without wavering. She took time to assess herself, rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms out, then leaning side to side and finding only the slightest hint of tenderness. Her stomach growled, protesting her hunger, but otherwise there seemed to be no sign of the battle for the tower. “Are you coming?”

“Yes, she is outside, and no, I shall not follow you. I will remain in here and make something to eat.”

 

The air outside the house was cooler, and Ri continued to feel very underdressed in just her knee-length shift. As she stepped out of the building she saw Alistair in the distance, standing at the shore of the lake, wearing just his shirtsleeves and some brown breeches. He seemed younger without his armour on, although his shoulders were undeniably broad, she couldn’t help but to notice how muscular he was. That was, she presumed, a result of his training and possibly related to his preferred fighting style. She tore her eyes away from her unabashed assessment of Alistair’s back, and instead took in her surroundings.

Morrigan’s mother stood by the fire, seemingly locked in a staring contest with the last creature Ri expected to see. As soon as Ri’s bare foot touched the dirt path, the mabari swung her massive head around, her ears pricking up and her tongue lolloping out of her mouth. Ignoring their host, the large dog stood up and gracefully trotted over to Ri, pressing her muzzle to the elf’s open hand.

“How did you get here?” Ri dropped to a crouch, then flung her arms around the hound, feeling stronger to have an ally she could trust.

“The dog is yours?” the woman asked, a tone of judgement in her voice.

“I suppose,” Ri stood up once more and walked over to the fire, the mabari keeping perfect pace, muscular shoulder to Ri’s part-bared thigh. “I saved her life once, if you can call retrieving some flowers such a grand act. She seems to have taken it personally.”

“A wise beast,” the elder witch passed judgement. “Unlike this one,” she flung one hand in the direction of Alistair. “See? Here she is, whole and unharmed. You worry far too much, young man.” Alistair turned, his eyes wide at the sight of her, although Ri couldn’t tell whether his surprise was that she lived, or that she wore so little.

“I thought you were dead for sure,” he confessed, his words making his thoughts clearer. “I saw them kill you,” he shook his head, adjusting his reality.

“I thought as much of you,” Ri returned, forgetting for the moment that the last time they had spoken, before reaching the tower, they had been sniping at one another. “We have a lot to thank these women for. Without them we would be dead, there’s no doubt about that.”

“Do not talk about me as if I am not present, girl,” an irritated voice scolded. Ri could feel her cheeks grow warm as she ducked her head, turning back to their host and healer.

“I am truly sorry,” Ri floundered, ashamed at her bad conduct.

“If you don’t mind, what do we call you?” Alistair asked, saving her from further indiscretion. “You never told us your name before.”

“Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth, I suppose it will do,” came the unclear response. The name meant nothing to Ri, but Alistair’s gasp indicated he had heard of her.

“ _The_ Flemeth? From the legends? Daveth was right - you’re a Witch of the Wilds, aren’t you?” his tone was part awe and part fear. For a long moment the look of loss and devastation seemed to vanish from his face.

“And what does that mean?” Flemeth demanded, not responding well to the moniker. “I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not.” Ri looked to Alistair, wondering how the almost-Templar would react, or whether the Warden in him would override his past self.

“You must have much power,” he reasoned, carefully.

“Power is all relative,” Flemeth did not shrug, but the tone in her voice showed how little she cared for bragging. “Compared to you I might have power, but I also have an advantage in experience and miles travelled. Surviving to an advanced age, as I have, comes with some benefits. To say I have power should not surprise anyone here.”

“Why didn’t you save Duncan? He is - he was our leader,” the pain came crashing back upon the young Warden. Ri raised her hand, her first instinct being to offer solace, but he was too far away, and she doubted he would be as free with his touch as her elvhen family were. Instead she let her hand rest on Mustela’s withers.

“I am sorry for your Duncan, but your grief must come later,” Flemeth pulled no punches as she tossed aside Alistair’s obvious suffering with her firm words. “In the dark shadows before you take vengeance, as my mother once said. Duty must come now. It has always been the Grey Wardens’ duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn’t looking?” The accusation hit home, Ri saw the moment when Alistair’s eyes went blank as he drew his emotions closer to his heart and threw up a wall of stoicism. She wanted to tell him that it was not wrong to grieve, that he could cry until his eyes were dry, but she had to agree with Flemeth’s point - this was not the time for feelings, this was the time for doing.

“How long?” Ri spoke up, coming to Alistair’s aid as he had hers. “How long were we asleep?”

“Three nights,” Flemeth’s words struck a cold chord in Ri’s heart.

“They have been marching for three nights? Tearing through the country?” Sudden shame filled her that she had been lying asleep whilst the very beings she had sworn to fight had been carrying on their rampage.

“The king had nearly defeated them,” Alistair sounded puzzled. “Why would Loghain do this?” His words reminded Ri of what Morrigan had said in the house, that Loghain had turned and fled.

“Now that is a good question,” Flemeth praised him. “Men’s hearts hold shadows far darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuvre. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat.”

“The archdemon,” Alistair hissed.

“We must get going,” Ri had no further suggestion other than that they start working out what to do.

“If Arl Eamon knew of Loghain’s actions at Ostager he would be the first to call for his execution,” Alistair continued, fixated on the human who had wronged him; the easier target when paired with the archdemon.

“Arl Eamon?” she pressed for further information.

“He wasn’t at Ostagar; he still has all his men. And he was Cailan’s uncle. I know him, he’s a good man; respected in the Landsmeet. Of course!” Alistair brightened. “We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help.”

“That could work,” Ri mused. “Who else? Surely there must be other allies we could call on?”

“The treaties,” Alistair’s desperate enthusiasm grew with the sudden recollection. “We can demand aid from the dwarves, elves, mages - there are people obligated to help the Grey Wardens during a Bight.” Ri knew very little of the tame mages, or the dwarves, but she knew the beginnings of a plan when she heard one.

“This sounds like an army to me,” even Flemeth could see what needed to be done.

“You have the treaties?” Ri asked Alistair, scarcely daring to expend what little hope she had left.

“I do. Duncan gave them to me for safe keeping. They were within my breastplate, and I have them still. So, we can do this? We can gather these people together? We can build an army to face the Blight?”

“I don’t see any other options,” Ri admitted. “And, we are Grey Wardens, so isn’t this what we do?”

“You are set then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?” Flemeth pressed, seeming to be asking them to reconfirm their vows.

“Yes,” Ri replied firmly. “We swore an oath, we know our duty. We owe it to those that have fallen that we might live.”

“Now,” Flemeth continued, suddenly giving Ri the feeling that she and Alistair had been played, had been steered into a decision of Flemeth’s choosing. “Before you go, there is yet one more thing I can offer you. You will leave within the hour, and my daughter will be joining you.” Ri gave a small smile just as Alistair’s mouth dropped open.

“Is that what Morrigan wishes?” Ri asked, unable to work out the family dynamics of the two witches.

“Her magic will be useful,” Flemeth ignored the question, “Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde. Consider this repayment for your lives.”

“As you wish,” Ri spoke quickly, lest Alistair dare complain.

“Very well, your belongings are within the house - go prepare yourself and send my daughter out,” Flemeth ordered.

 

“Not to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Alistair muttered, once the two Wardens were alone in the house. “But, won’t this just add to our problems? Out of the Wilds she’s an apostate.”

“Oh shut up, Alistair,” Ri grumbled, her back turned on the younger man as she pulled on the salvaged armour. Most of the blood stains had dried, leaving the leather darkened in places, but still functional. She dressed without any worry of her fellow Warden catching sight of her in her smalls, too eager to be in something more substantial than the thin shift. Even in this place of relative safeness Ri found she was still waiting for some hideous beast to leap out at her.

“And you’ll just tell any templars we meet to shut up, will you?” he pressed.

“Were it not for two apostates, as you call them, we would both be very dead right now. Let’s not argue again, there are far greater obstacles in our way than one another.”

“Point taken,” Alistair sighed. Ri picked up her two curved elven blades, noting how dull their edges had become after the relentless fighting. She would need to find a whetstone. The bow was far greater a loss, even without the uncomfortable betrayal of knowing it was what had brought her to the brink of death.

“I will need a new bow,” Ri pushed on, buckling her bracers. “Which I suppose will cost something?”

“Most likely,” Alistair returned, he was struggling with some of the many buckles his armour required. Ri placed her blades carefully on a clear part of a table, then crossed the floor to assist. “I- thank you. I have a little coin on me, but not enough. We do not have the authority to charge things to the Warden accounts, so we may have to find other ways to earn coin.”

“We can do this, Alistair,” Ri soothed as she laid one hand on the heavily armoured shoulder.

“I know,” he sighed. “But does it have to be with her? Do you really want to take her along just because her mother says so?” Ri stared at the unkempt face of the young Warden and gave a small smile.

“Well I’m hardly going to admit that I’m bringing her along just to annoy you,” she mused. “Seriously, though, we need all the help we can get. Twice now Morrigan and her mother have helped us. At great cost, I assume; giving up their beds, bringing us back from certain death. We don’t have anyone else to do such things.”

“But, Arl Eamon-”

“Is not here,” Ri’s tone was firm as she fought her point. “If Morrigan can help us out, we have hope of getting to your arl unnoticed. Maybe Teyrn Loghain will continue to think us dead. That is what we need to hope for; if he doesn’t see us coming for him, he’ll not be able to prepare a defense.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Alistair relented, meeting Ri’s intense glare with his expressive brown eyes.

 

“Mother says I am to accompany you,” Morrigan announced drily as the two Wardens rejoined the outside world. The mabari, Mustela, had obediently waited outside the house, eagerly rejoining her new companion’s side as soon as it was possible. “Do you have a plan?” Morrigan asked.

“We need coin, and supplies,” Ri spoke first, knowing Alistair would likely as not antagonise their new ally.

“Then I might suggest Lothering, a village north of the Wilds. ‘Tis but a couple of days’ walk from here, and you will find what you need there.” Ri looked to Alistair for his thoughts.

“North is good,” he agreed, albeit a little sullenly.

“Farewell then, Mother,” Morrigan spoke nonchalantly. “Do not forget the pot on the fire. I should hate to see smoke on the horizon were I to look back.”

“Put an end to this Blight,” the older woman warned. “Or you shall look back upon far worse than a little smoke.”

“I- All I meant -” Morrigan stumbled at the severity of her mother’s words.

“Yes, I know,” Flemeth gentled somewhat. “Do try to have fun, dear.”

 

Morrigan took the lead, as they walked through the Wilds. There was no point in picking up the pace and exhausting themselves, so they kept up a gentle walking speed. Mustela continued to place herself at Ri’s side, whilst Alistair fell in at her other side.

“How are you doing?” Ri asked, her voice low.

“Just brilliant,” he scowled, then heaved a large sigh. “Sorry.”

“Be angry if you want to be angry,” Ri gave easily. “I’m angry. We’ve lost a lot to the Blight and it’s just getting started. So be angry, be sad, be scared. Be whatever you need to be in order to move forward.” She looked at him as they walked, seeing frustration written across his face. “Not how templars work?”

“I’m not a templar,” he returned. “But no, that’s not quite how they taught us in the monastery.”

“What about the Wardens? Surely every new recruit came with their own baggage, how did that get sorted?”

“Sparring,” Alistair shrugged. “I don’t know, no one else seemed all that fussed.”

“Maybe Carol had some other potion to numb the feelings,” Ri shrugged, not quite comfortable with speaking so lightly of the dead. “We Dalish often plant a seed to honour our fallen friends so that new life may grow in remembrance of those we have lost. I had half a thought to do something for Daveth and Jory, something more than carrying this around,” she fished the blood pendant out from beneath her breastplate and studied it, a frown on her face. “We all have different ways of dealing with things. Talk, don’t talk, do whatever works for you.” Alistair had no response to that, so the odd company; apostate, two Grey Wardens, and a mabari warhound, walked along in relative silence.

After a short while Ri registered that Alistair was crying, although he was hiding it well. Without looking at him she closed the distance between them, Mustela moving with her, and slowly reached out a hand. Alistair flinched, but did not pull his gloved hand away as Ri wrapped her bare fingers around it. To her credit, Morrigan did not let on whether or not she had noticed.

 

Setting up camp that night was a poorly coordinated exercise in how not to work cohesively. Flemeth had furnished Alistair and Ri each with a canvas, a length of rope, and a thin bedroll, all of which Alistair looked at as if he had never seen such things before. Morrigan and Ri both had very different methods of setting up a single-berth shelter for the night, and not one of them knew what to do with Mustela.

Eventually they managed to get something almost resembling a camp together before the sun had set. Morrigan produced some fresh vegetables from her pack and wordlessly started preparing a meal.

“We’ll see what game there is around,” Ri offered, picking up the remainder of her rope and hooking it over the haft of one of her blades.

“Be my guest,” Morrigan replied, as if she didn’t much care either way.

“Come on then,” Ri looked to Alistair, not wanting to leave him alone with the witch whilst he was in a vulnerable state. “We need to get some food.”

“I don’t-” he let his protests drop and merely followed her into the loose forest. Mustela showed no sign of wanting to come with them, looking up only briefly from where she lay curled besides the fire.

“First thing,” Ri instructed as they walked away from the camp, “we need to find a long, straight stick. Ideally something about shoulder height,” this was easy for her; talking about hunting, it was as much a part of her as the deep brown vallaslin that marked her face. “Preferably two, but one to start out with will do.” They scoured the forest floor for a little while in silence before between them they had gathered three potential spears. Ri inspected each one and pronounced them fit for purpose, before using one of her blades to carve a quick sharpened spike at one end of each stick. “Right, next up we need to find prey. Tread quietly,” they crept through the forest in near-silence, Ri’s eyes darting about, wincing with every crack of a stick as Alistair didn’t quite manage to remain stealthy. It was more by luck than skill that they eventually crept close enough to a foraging muntjac. It was near the edge of a tumbling river and so remained unaware of its hunters as they slowed their approach. Ri silently debated whether or not to let Alistair take the shot, but decided she was feeling more hungry than magnanimous, so she raised her own spear and tossed it with relative ease, striking the animal in the chest and bringing it a quick end.

“Thank you for giving us sustenance,” Ri muttered as she knelt beside the fallen deer. She processed the creature quickly, cutting it open and carefully removing the organs. She tied the deer’s ankles and threaded the remaining spears between the two pairs of legs, giving them something to carry it by. She propped the carcass up, allowing any remaining blood to trickle out. Eventually she moved to kneel beside the stream, washing her hands and her blade in the clear running water.

“I suppose I ought to learn how to do all that,” Alistair admitted glumly.

“You’ll pick it up quickly enough,” Ri decided. “This should last us a few days, assuming Morrigan has some magic for preserving the meat, and we work out some way of transporting it. Although I dare say the hound will eat a good deal of it.”

“I never even wondered where the camp food came from,” Alistair admitted, seemingly just working out how much he had previously relied upon others. “Food just appeared, all we had to do was warm it up.”

“We’ll make a hunter out of you,” she replied easily. “I do have one request in return.”

“Oh yes?” Alistair replied, his voice wary.

“Nothing too awful,” Ri allowed a small laugh to cross her lips, trying and failing to cover her embarrassment. “I - most of us in the clan never had the need to learn our letters, only the few historians knew how to read and write, and even then it wasn’t really deemed that important. I’m aware that this will leave me at a loss in the wider world. Would you-”

“Of course,” Alistair spared her begging with a gracious reply. “Duncan would have sorted all that out,” he sighed, sitting down on the dusty ground and looking directly at Ri, his eyes almost too earnest.

“You were very fond of him?” Ri pressed, gently.

“He was the first person to really believe in me,” Alistair admitted freely. “I didn’t have parents, growing up, then I was sent packing to the monastery when I was still a boy. Duncan came to see us practising and even though I didn’t win anything, he picked me.” Ri bit back a scathing comment about the calibre of Duncan’s other recent recruits; the thief, the bumbling knight, and the dying elf.

“Eventually we will need to recruit new Wardens,” Ri mused, pushing herself up to her feet and checking the carcass. “This is ready, we can start back now,” Alistair got up, taking one end of the spears and hoisting it to his shoulder. The load was uneven, falling mainly to Ri with her diminutive height, but she shouldered it without complaint - after everything, this didn’t seem worth fussing about. “You do know how to recruit new Wardens, right?” she asked as they started walking back to camp. “As shitty as the Joining was, I’m guessing there’s something more than empty ritual behind it.”

“I know how to conduct the Joining,” Alistair admitted. “If we can find parchment and ink along the way I shall be sure to write it down. I also need to write an account of Ostagar for the archivists in Weisshaupt, they will want a list of the fallen, as well as an account of your Joining.”

“Weisshaupt being-” Ri prompted.

“The seat of the Grey Wardens high command,” he replied, starting to fill in the gaps in Ri’s knowledge of the world. “It’s in the Anderfels, far to the north-west. They want records of everything. That was one of Duncan’s responsibilities; organising the archivists. We had two, despite being so few in number.” The fire came into view, and Ri couldn’t help but to smile at the welcoming bark from Mustela.

“Your dog has no concept of personal space,” Morrigan complained.

“She’ll be better behaved now,” Ri guessed. “We found more food.” The mabari sniffed the air, then drew closer to where Ri and Alistair stood, holding their prey. Mustela let out a low whine. “Alright, girl, not long now.”

The light was disappearing, so Ri started stripping the carcass, instructing Alistair on how to prepare the meat, splitting out some to go on a makeshift spit, and some rest to be smoked overnight. Mustela was given one of the deer’s back legs, as well as helping herself to some of the organs.

 

“Did you grow up in the Wilds?” Ri asked Morrigan later that evening. Alistair had taken to his bed leaving the women to take first watch. Ri sat cross-legged on the ground beside the low-burning embers, feeling more full and more at ease than she had in a long while. Mustela curled around her, her giant bulk pressed up against Ri’s back.

“Did I grow up in the Wilds?” Morrigan repeated, as if confused at Ri’s words. “What sort of a question is that? I do not probe you for useless information.”

“Answer or do not answer,” Ri shrugged. “I was merely curious. Until recently I had very rarely left the forests of my clan.”

“I roamed occasionally,” Morrigan gave, tossing the information out as if it were worthless to her. “I left the Wilds to explore what lay beyond. Never for long. Brief forays into a civilized wilderness.”

“What drew you back?” the elf continued. “Or rather, what was lacking in the outside world?”

“So confident and bold was I, yet there was much that Flemeth could never have prepared me for. There are things about human society which have always puzzled me. Such as the touching; why all the touching for a simple greeting?” Ri laughed at the admission.

“And here was I thinking the very opposite,” she confessed. “Compared to my Dalish family, you humans seem so restrained to me.”

“Oh? How curious.” Morrigan seemed to ponder the notion for a while. “Is that why you coddle him?” she nodded her head toward the sleeping Warden.

“He is suffering,” Ri gave generously.

“He needs to be strong, not miserable.”

“There are different ways to encourage strength,” Ri frowned. “A struggling sapling could be plucked from the ground and cast aside, or could be given a stake to lean upon and given water in times of drought. We are not in a forest of Grey Wardens; it is down to the two of us and so I need him strong of mind, body, and spirit. There are many ways in which I am lacking in this human world we’re heading into. I need him to open doors which I alone could not open. From what I’ve seen of the human world, they are unlikely to take me seriously no matter what uniform I wear or title I hold.”

“Then you mean to step up as leader?” Morrigan probed, clearly interested in the as yet undetermined hierarchy of the only two Grey Wardens in Ferelden.

“I mean to do what is needed to put an end to this Blight. If Alistair suggests the better option then I shall follow him. If my ideas are better I hope he will follow me.” Ri trailed off with a shrug. “It’s early days, we’ll have to see where it goes.”

The conversation lapsed, and Ri busied herself in cleaning and finishing the rough spears she and Alistair had made.

 

The moon was high overhead as Ri gently woke Alistair to take second watch. Leaving Mustela to sit with the grieving Warden, Ri crawled under her tarpaulin covering and loosened her armour a little, remaining protected, but in a somewhat less restricted way. Sleep was quick to claim her, bringing with it the nightmares of the darkspawn army, each one marching to the beat of distant dragon wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ********  
> Intermission!  
> ********
> 
> You have completed 10 chapters of Strangeness and Charm. Maybe now you might like to take a break, grab a drink, breath some fresh air, then come back and continue. Self care is love.
> 
> Or just barrel on through; I'll remind you again after chapter 20.


	11. Guiding Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song by Mumford and Sons

Ri rose with the sun, tightening her loosened armour and crawled out of the tent. She gave Alistair a friendly smile as she approached the low fire, rubbing her palms together to shake off the morning’s chill.

“Peaceful night?” she asked.

“Not a soul moved but your hound, and she didn’t journey all that far before returning. Did you sleep well?”

“Not in the slightest,” Ri returned with a light shrug. “You know how it is; hideous nightmares, visions of death and terror.”

“Ah, I know it well. They say it gets better, but I’ve yet to see any marked difference.”

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Ri made her excuses and walked away from the camp, the large mabari excitedly bounding ahead of her. She left the path behind her and started to walk through the trees, stopping every now and then to pick up dropped seeds and nuts from the floor. Any elfroot she found was harvested with equal care. The need to consume the restorative plant had gone, but Ri knew hard times lay ahead and that she would rather regret carrying too much than regret not picking any whilst she had the chance.

 

On her return to camp, Ri found Morrigan and Alistair glowering at each other across the fire.

“Everything alright here?” she asked, getting no response from either party. “Good, well, I’m happy to eat on the way. Let’s get packed up and get going.” There was no further comment from either of the two humans, which irritated Ri, leaving her feeling excluded, even if it was from petty squabbling rather than anything vital. She packed up her bedroll in silence, taking her share of the cured meat in her pack, and immediately missing the wagons her clan used when travelling.

They walked without break, and with very little conversation. Morrigan took the lead once more, not showing any inclination to converse with her Warden companions. Alistair had withdrawn into his grief, trailing behind, and whatever camaraderie Ri had bolstered the previous day was now not to be found. Ri walked in between the two humans, her hand once more resting atop the mabari’s shoulders.

As the day progressed the Wilds disappeared from around them, the sparse patches of woodland and dank grey pools turning into large fields and the ordered structures of human farms. The path they had been following joined a larger path, then a road, although they had yet to meet a single person on their journey.

 

Stopping at a well, the three companions took turns to draw water for their flasks.

“We are making good progress,” Morrigan observed drily. “We could press on to Lothering this evening, or slow our pace and make camp beside the road.” Ri looked to Alistair as he looked to her.

“Pressing on sounds good to me,” she offered. Alistair nodded his head, looking entirely disinterested in the discussion. After the morning’s interactions, the templar seemed to have retreated into himself. Ri bit back her irritation at being left alone to make the decisions; she knew Alistair was grieving, but selfishly she didn’t want to be alone on their shared mission.

“It is decided then,” Morrigan sniped.

 

The sun was just beginning its descent when Alistair finally spoke, seemingly out of nowhere.

“I remember Lothering having an inn. I don’t suppose we’ve the money for a room though.”

“Ah, so you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you?” Morrigan slowed her pace as she passed judgement.

“Is my being upset bothering you in some way?” Alistair shot back. “Have you never lost someone important to you? Just what would you do if your mother died?”

“Before or after I stopped laughing?”

“Hey,” Ri interjected. “No, Alistair, I don’t think we would have the money for to stay at an inn. I was holding out hope we could purchase a horse and wagon, but even that is probably too much to expect.”

“Possibly, although I can see the merit,” Alistair mused. “I was thinking we should talk about where we intend on going first.” Ri gave a short nod, having expected this conversation.

“In some small way it depends on what state we find Lothering in,” she ventured. “We need to work out what has happened in the last few days.”

“But we need to decide what our general plan is for afterwards, don’t we? I think what Flemeth suggested is the best idea. We should go through the treaties together, but the top line summary is that we have three best shots for recruiting men for an army. What do you know of the Dalish in the Brecilian forest?”

“I know my clan were leaving; heading north to get away from the Blight. There may be other clans in the woods, but I’d need to be there before I could tell you how easy it would be to find them.”

“Less difficult to locate are the dwarves of Orzammer, and the Circle of Magi,” Ri watched as Morrigan bristled at the mention of the Circle. Thinking of the two ‘apostate’ mages from her clan, Ri couldn’t help but to share Morrigan’s opinion of this Circle.

“I need a map,” she muttered, stopping her walking and rubbing the toe of her boot on the dusty road. “Let’s huddle,” she crouched down and drew a small cross in the dust. “This is Ostagar, and this is us now,” she drew a straight line up from the cross, as they’d been travelling predominantly northward since leaving. It was harder for Alistair to crouch, with his heavy plate armour, but he managed to sink to his knees without too much fuss. Morrigan remained standing, but her attention was on the rough map.

“Lothering is here, so Redcliffe must be around here,” he marked a location to the West, then another much further to the north. “This is Orzammar, and the Circle is just over here,” another mark in the north west. “This here is Lake Calenhad, so it’s not quite a straight path from Redcliffe to the Circle.” Ri frowned at how much was situated in the west.

“And the forest is over here,” she pressed a finger down in the east.

“Yes, pretty much all of this,” Alistair’s hand gesture indicated the scale of the forest was much larger than that of the lake he had illustrated. “Denerim is right up here, just above the Brecilian forest,” he finished, making a cross for Denerim far from their position. “I do think that Arl Eamon is our best bet for help. He’s here in Redcliffe, so it might be an idea to go to him first.”

“What do you think, Morrigan?” Ri looked up at their guide, wondering what lay behind the silent visage.

“I would counsel that you go after your enemy directly. If Loghain is an imminent threat, then go to him and kill him. The rest of this business with the treaties and wandering the four corners of the land in search of aid, well surely that would be simpler if not always looking over one’s shoulder.”

“Of course Loghain wouldn’t see that coming,” Alistair sneered sarcastically. “And it’s not like he has the advantage of an army, and experience, and-”

“I was asked for my opinion and I gave it,” Morrigan snapped.

“Thank you, Morrigan,” Ri spoke firmly, glaring at Alistair in the hope that he might try to behave. “Alistair, is there any way to contact the Grey Wardens, any other Grey Wardens?”

“Short of leaving Ferelden to seek them out, the only place to send word would be Weisshaupt Fortress, and that’s thousands of miles away. The Orlesian Wardens had sent word that they were mobilising, but it would take them some time to get here, and I assume they’ve been called to Ostagar, it’s going to prove difficult to get in touch with them at all, and we do not have the coin to hire many couriers to send off in search of them.”

“Are you sure Arl Eamon is going to be on our side?” Ri asked, forming the loose basis of a plan.

“Yes,” Alistair replied in earnest.

“We’re all agreed, I think, that we go first to Lothering, see if there’s any quick coin to be made to gather some supplies. We can keep our ears open for any news of Loghain or of the Blight. With any hope he thinks us dead, but best not to assume that. After Lothering it seems sensible that we go to Redcliffe; it’s the closest and most likely source of aid. If we can get Arl Eamon to support us against Loghain, then we can consider that path, however we should stay out of politics where we can. If the Arl cannot help us to address the threat Loghain poses, we shall have to stick to our primary mission. It seems logical to move from Redcliffe either to the Circle or to Orzammar. We could then aim to enter the forest from the north, and be close enough to Denerim to be ready to address any issues there. If the other Dalish are like my clan then they’ll all be headed northward anyway, so that might work to our advantage.”

“Sounds as good a plan as any,” Alistair shrugged, using his shield to push himself to his feet. Ri followed suit, kicking dirt over their map more out of habit than out of any paranoia of their being followed.

 

“I have a wonder, Alistair, if you would indulge me?” Morrigan announced out of nowhere as they neared the lights of what Ri could only assume was Lothering.

“Do I have a choice?” Alistair responded, sounding tired. Ri was exhausted, they had barely stopped their travelling and she was regretting deciding to press on for the village.

“Of the two of you that remain, are you not the senior Grey Warden? I find it curious that you allow another to lead while you follow?” Ri considered intervening, but figured this was one Alistair could handle on his own. Not to mention that her intervention would only serve to give Morrigan more ammunition.

“You find that curious, do you?” Alistair frowned, clearly not wanting to enter into conversation.

“In fact, you defer to a new recruit. Is this a policy of the Grey Wardens? Or simply a personal one?”

“What do you want to hear? That I prefer to follow? That I am barely more than a new recruit myself?” he let out a sigh, too tired to retaliate. “Leave me alone, Morrigan.”

“I was simply trying to work out the nature of my companions,” the witch replied in hurt tones. “You, Ri, seem to be a decisive sort; a natural leader as it were. I am curious as to how that will play out for you.”

“What sort of person are you, Morrigan?” Ri turned the question around. “What do you hope to gain from joining our crusade. Are you looking to join the Wardens? Or simply trying to escape the Wilds?”

“Neither,” Morrigan’s eyes narrowed. “I travel with you because my Mother wills it so. She does not want a Blight to ruin this land, and so I am here to ensure your task is fulfilled.”

“We don’t nee-”

“We do,” Ri broke Alistair off, meeting his eyes. “We are two people. That’s the biggest problem. We need help. Even with the losses the darkspawn felt, we need help. We can’t afford to buy help, so we have to take everything. Morrigan’s already shown herself to be more than capable.”

“Charming,” Morrigan laughed, her breath clouding in the early dusk air.

“Looks like we have company,” Ri spotted movement on the road ahead. A large bridge took the road over a river, whilst also diverting foot traffic down toward the dim lights of a settlement the other side.

“Lothering has never been guarded before,” Morrigan explained. “Tis barely a village; only here by the fact that two roads met, and so a few houses sprung up. They are not wealthy enough to have paid for defenders.”

“On our guard then,” Alistair sounded equally uneasy.

 

The trio started climbing the bridge, causing two men to stand up from where a larger group of four or five more were lounging around a campfire at the side of the road. Ri looked beyond them, surprised to see people bedding down on the hard floor. An overturned wagon partly blocked the road, further away she saw another firelight flickering behind a small wall of wooden crates. Even her limited knowledge of human settlements told her something was wrong here.

“Ho there travellers!” one of the standing humans spoke. He was a smart-looking man with mismatching armour, all of it looking to be in good condition. A large sword hung at his side. Ri felt her fingers twitch as she fought against the urge to draw her blades.

“Uh, they don’t look like them others,” the second man murmured, a burlier human with a slow drawling voice. “Maybe we should just let them pass.”

“Highwaymen,” Alistair spat, his voice low and only for Ri and Morrigan’s ears. “Preying on those fleeing the darkspawn, I suppose.”

“They are fools to get in our way. I say teach them a lesson,” the witch was not quite so subtle in her judgement. The lead brigand leered at Morrigan, his eyes lasciviously roaming her toned body.

“Now, is that any way to greet a friendly face?” he smiled, but there was menace to his tone. “All it will take is a simple ten silver, then you are free to move on. Or I’ll knock it down to five silvers and a go on that one there,” he nodded toward Morrigan, but seemed to be speaking to Alistair. Ri frowned, aware of Morrigan tensing up, her hand clenched around her staff.

“Step aside,” Ri spoke up. “You do not want to cross us.” For a moment the man looked surprised, then a snarl of anger clouded his face.

“You forget your place, elf,” he snarled. “I was talking to your leader.” He looked past Ri and toward Alistair. “Ten pieces of silver. Quickly, man, before I double it.” Ri seethed, lifting her fingertips from Mustela’s shoulders. The mabari stepped forward, out of the shadows enough for the firelight to illuminate her. Ri looked at her dog, then silently inclined her head toward the highwayman. In an instant Mustela sprang forward, leaping at the man and planting a large paw on each of his shoulders. Within seconds he was on his back on the stone bridge, pinned by a growling warhound.

“I will thank the rest of you to let my companions and I pass without hindrance,” Ri spoke officiously, her hands resting on the pommels of her knives, ready to pull them out should they be needed.

“All right, all right,” the felled man whimpered. “We were just trying to get by, before the darkspawn got us all. Let me up and be on your way.”

“That will be ten silver,” Ri looked to the four men approaching from the campsite. “Ten silvers and we shall leave you to finish the night in peace. Tomorrow you all leave.”

“What is the meaning of this?” one of the thieves asked. Ri quietly eased the two knives from their scabbards, feeling better with their weight in her hands.

“Your friend and I were just talking about your toll. Kindly pay your camping fee to my companion here,” she nodded at Alistair, “and you shall be allowed to stay one more night. Refusal to pay will mean immediate eviction. Well, except for your friend here - my dog has taken rather a fancy to him, and she does get hungry around this time of evening.”

“Give them the money,” the bandit cried from below the large dog.

“Alright, alright,” to Ri’s great surprise the man pulled a coinpouch from his belt and counted out ten silvers which he offered to Alistair. The Warden took the coin, giving a short nod.

“Good. Now, I shall be telling the nice people on this bridge where to find me and my friends, and should there be any further ‘tolls’, I will be hearing about it. Come along, Mustela,” she walked past the bandits, assuming her companions and Mustela would fall in.

“Now you see why she’s the leader?” Alistair hissed at Morrigan.

 

Lothering was busier than Ri had expected, for a village close to an oncoming Blight, and at the cusp of darkness. It seemed to be little more than a collection of houses and buildings gathered around the crossroads, as Morrigan had said. The river passed through the centre of the village, with a smaller footbridge crossing it. Ri looked back toward the main roadbridge, noticing it was broken quite substantially over the rushing water, making the route through the village the only passable way.

Several larger buildings stood out from the others, including one Alistair immediately spotted.

“Ah, a chantry,” he announced. “They’re sure to provide help.”

“I’m sure even the most pious can only help a fixed number of people,” Morrigan pointed out coldly, “and it seems that this village is already overrun with refugees.” They walked through a small grassy green, now filled with makeshift tents and shelters. Wide-eyed humans looked up at them as they walked.

“Should we help them?” Alistair asked.

“Not sure there’s much we can do right now,” Ri admitted. All the same, Alistair deviated from the path, greeting one family and offering them some smoked venison from his pack.

“He’s a fool,” Morrigan spoke, more to herself than aimed at Ri. The elf said nothing, silently remarking that had they found elvhen refugees she would likely have done the same thing.

“Sorry,” Alistair rejoined them, not looking the least bit sorry.

“Where would you recommend?” Ri looked to Morrigan for advice.

“There is an inn,” Morrigan lifted her hand and indicated a large building.

“Even if they don’t have rooms, they might have news or jobs we can do for money,” Alistair added.

“Money we could just give away as you seem to have done with your food,” Morrigan finished drily. Ri rolled her eyes and pressed forward.

“Do you think maybe I should go in first,” Alistair asked tentatively.

“Why?” Ri asked, stopping several paces from the door and looking back at the already red-cheeked ex-Templar-in-training.

“Well,” he stumbled. “You’re an- she’s a- we have a dog?” he looked between the two women, then his eyes found Mustela.

“Ah, there are your natural leadership skills, shining through,” Morrigan spat as Ri turned away, pressing forward. Giving only a moment’s thought to Alistair’s inference that he was the only acceptable member of the party, she pressed both hands to the door and pushed it open.

Immediately light, warmth, and noise hit her. There was music, beneath layer upon layer of conversation. Ri looked around quickly as she entered, immediately feeling a little lost amongst the crowds of tall humans. Amidst the gentle buzz of chatter there were raised voices. Ri looked back for her companions, feeling Mustela push her way through the crowds to remain at her side whilst Alistair and Morrigan got swallowed up by the throng. It almost seemed like the patrons were trying to get closer to the walls of the inn, clearing a space in the middle, although Ri didn’t realise quite what they were making room for until it was too late.

“Well, look what we have here, men. I think we’ve just been blessed.” A coarse voice, softened only by the slur of a few drinks. Ri dropped her hands to her knife hilts as she looked up at the speaker. A knight in Loghain’s livery, with at least four similarly dressed companions. “Hey!” the knight’s voice rose half an octave as Mustela let out a low growl. “That’s my mabari,” he frowned, squinting at the dog for a moment, then looked back to Ri. “Not only a traitor, but a thief too.”

“All day we’ve been asking around about an elf, and all day you’ve all kept very quiet. I would hate to find out we had been lied to,” a second knight spoke up, looking around at the shocked townsfolk. There was movement to Ri’s left, and she glanced aside, expecting to see Alistair or Morrigan. Instead she was greeted with the sight of a human woman in religious robes.

“Gentlemen,” she crooned in a heavily accented voice, stepping forward to meet the stand off. Morrigan and Alistair finally pushed their way through to join the escalating situation. “Surely there is no need for trouble,” the woman continued. “These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge.”

“Poor souls in Warden colours,” the first knight observed. Ri mentally added cloaks to her mental shopping list - the blue and silver on her armour was hardly discrete, even when covered with blood and mud stains. “And with a stolen mabari warhound. These are no refugees, they are war criminals. Stay out of our way, Sister. You protect these traitors, you’ll get the same as then.”

“Is there no depth to which you men won’t sink? First leaving your king to defeat at the claws of the darkspawn, and now threatening an unarmed woman?” Ri spat, then glanced to the robed woman and saw a flash of silver hidden in the folds of her skirt. The woman caught her eye and offered a sly wink.

“Do not blame these men,” the woman gave, her words kind at first. “I doubt they would listen to any reason. They blindly follow their master’s commands.”

“I am not blind! I served at Ostagar, where the teyrn saved us from the Grey Wardens’ treachery! I serve him gladly,” Ri instinctively put out a hand just as Alistair stepped forward. Her palm met with his breastplate and she held firm. This encounter was not going to end well, but with this many witnesses she was damned well not going to let it appear that a Grey Warden threw the first punch.

“Enough talk,” the second guard spoke up, taking the decision to hold fire out of Ri’s hands. “Take the Wardens into custody. Kill the sister and anyone else that gets in your way.”

“This does not have to end in violence,” Ri spoke loudly, even as she withdrew her blades from her belt. “We are content to let our quarrel with Teyrn Loghain rest until after we have put a stop to this Blight. Stand down and we shall continue on our way.”

“Let’s make this quick,” the knight nodded to his men, who all raised their swords in response.

“We don’t want to kill them,” Ri looked between Alistair and Morrigan, although she had a feeling that Mustela the mabari was listening too.

Alistair intercepted the more talkative of the knights as he lunged forward, suddenly the crowds had parted a lot further, making room for the two men to swing their swords at one another. Ri shot a pleading look at Morrigan, not wanting this to turn into a massacre. The witch gave a small shrug, raising her staff as she stepped toward the fray. Ri held back, turning toward the unknown woman, now holding a short sword and seemingly readying herself to join in. Mustela let out a low growl, placing herself between her former owner and her new owner; teeth bared and hackles raised.

As the knights joined their leader’s attack, Morrigan banged the base of her staff against the floor, muttering some words under her breath. Within a split second all of the knights, but the leader, stopped in their tracks, dropping their swords and raising their hands to their temples. Ri was reminded of the Joining and the hideous sight of Daveth dying to the darkspawn blood. These men weren’t dying, instead they were weeping. Ri looked to Morrigan and saw only a cool nonchalance on her face.

“Stop,” she shouted, stepping forward with her blades drawn, her words causing Alistair to back away from the angry knight. “Your men are defeated, you stand alone. Beat an honest retreat, ser knight. We do not want to be the cause of any bloodshed. Not after Ostagar. Too many lives have been lost. Stand down.”

“Witchcraft,” the commander hissed as he took in his incapacitated warriors. “Hardly a fair fight.”

“Do you surrender?” Alistair demanded, his sword still at ready should the fight resume.

“Very well,” the knight wasn’t entirely convincing.

“Good,” the red-haired woman smiled, her lilting voice entirely jarring with the sword in her hands and the look of excitement in her eyes. “They have learned their lesson, we can all stop fighting now,” she, like Ri, was talking just that little bit too loud. This was very much a conversation for the sake of their audience, rather than a true parlay.

“You will all leave, immediately,” Ri declared. “And you will take a message to Teyrn Loghain from me, Oriana Mahariel of the Grey Wardens. You will tell him that the Wardens know the truth about Ostagar, and that we know what we did. Tell him that we will expect him to do his part to put an end to the Blight, and that he owes it to his country and his people to start atoning for his crime,” she felt Alistair stir uneasily beside her. “There is no forgiving treason, but there is still time for him to become a better man.”

“I shall tell him,” the commander bowed his head, seemingly defeated.

“Go. Now. Do not stop for anything.” Ri glanced to Morrigan, who effortlessly dropped the spell that was holding the weeping soldiers, and they all looked to their leader, as they scrabbled on the floor for their weapons. The knight commander let out a breath, clearly weighing up his options before deciding that retreat was the best choice. He stalked out of the inn, pushing the doors with unnecessary force so they almost bounced back and hit the next knight. It was only when the last man left that Ri felt the tension leave her shoulders. “Thank you, Morrigan,” she offered. The witch merely raised her eyebrows, a gesture Ri didn’t yet know the woman well enough to derive any meaning from.

“I apologise for interfering,” the chantry sister spoke. “I couldn’t just sit by and not help.”

“You really could have,” Morrigan sniped quietly.

“We are hardly in the position to refuse help,” Ri tried to find a middle ground. “Given what Loghain is presumably spreading about us, anyone choosing to side with us is a pleasant surprise.”

“I am glad you found it in your heart to offer those men mercy,” the woman continued. Ri decided not to point out the tactics behind her decision. “Let me introduce myself. I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the Chantry here in Lothering.”

“What does that mean?” Ri asked simply. There was no benefit in pretending she understood these human religions, and it seemed she needed to catch up quickly in order to keep in favour with the people whose lives she was meant to be saving.

“I joined the Chantry to live a life of religious contemplation, but I am no priest, not even an initiate.” The explanation did little to clarify things for Ri, but it seemed to hold meaning with Alistair.

“I am Ri, these are Alistair, a Grey Warden, and Morrigan, our guide in this part of the world, and a friend to our cause. The mabari is Mustela.” Ri completed the introductions with a growing sense of pride. They had gone from two almost dead Wardens to a small force to be reckoned with in barely a few days. It wasn’t enough to stop a Blight, but it was definitely the rough beginnings of something.

“So it’s true; you are Grey Wardens? You will be battling the darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do?”

“It’s pretty much all I’ve done so far,” Ri admitted freely.

“And you will need all the help you can get, especially as it seems the nobles are against you. That’s why I’m coming with you.” Ri was astounded at just how willingly people were joining her inherited cause.

“You’re coming with us?” she asked, wanting to be certain she had heard Leliana’s words correctly.

“Yes. The Maker told me to.” There didn’t seem to be much to say in response to that.

 

Between Alistair and Leliana, the world-saving force managed to convince the innkeeper to give them two of the three rooms now vacated in the wake of the knights’ departure, at the cost of their promise to keep out of the way and cause no trouble. Together, the three humans, elf, and mabari made their way into the larger of the two rooms, where they perched awkwardly on two wooden bedframes, each bearing a lumpy straw-filled mattress.

“So, Leliana,” Ri started, feeling the comforting warmth of Mustela’s head as the dog rested it on her foot. “The Maker told you to join us?” Ri and Morrigan sat on one bed, with the two red-haired Maker-followers taking the other. Alistair seemed to have withdrawn once more, whilst Morrigan was openly intrigued by the new development. Leliana was smiling at them, looking from face to face. Ri found herself wanting to take Alistair aside, to ask him his opinion. After all, he was really the only one she could trust. Morrigan remained a tentative ally; most likely here for her own reasons rather than for the general good.

“I know it sounds absolutely insane,” Leliana sighed. “But it is true. I had a dream, a vision,” Ri caught sight of a wry smile tugging at the corners of Alistair’s mouth.

“More crazy? I thought we were all full up,” he commented drily, his sarcasm not quite at full strength.

“Did you see the people here as you arrived?” Leliana ignored him. “They are lost in their despair, and this darkness, this chaos, it will spread. The Maker doesn’t want this. What you do, what you are meant to do, it is the Maker’s work. It is my calling. Please let me help,” Ri couldn’t help but to compare Leliana’s reasoning with Flemeth’s words when she had informed them that Morrigan was joining them. Clearly convincing people that their best interests, or their deity’s best interests lay in defeating the Blight was all they would need to do to get their army together.

“I don’t see how we can turn you away,” she admitted. “This is all we are, for the time being. We two are the only Grey Wardens in the whole of Ferelden. If you join us, then we four, five if you count Mustela, we are it. We’re hoping to find allies in the Circle, in the dwarves of Orzammar, and in the Dalish.”

“Well that sounds like a worthy plan,” Leliana beamed.

“We’ll get started in the morning, for now it is late. We have a lot to be getting on with tomorrow, so I suggest we get some rest. Do you have rooms?”

“I have a place in the chantry.”

“Wonderful, we’ll meet you there tomorrow morning and work out our plans.” Leliana nodded her agreement and said her goodnights. Soon afterwards Morrigan excused herself and Ri found herself alone with Alistair.

“How are you doing?” Ri asked softly.

“This is all exhausting, aren’t you exhausted?” Alistair replied, starting to remove the arm pieces and legs pieces of his heavy armour.

“It’s definitely a bit of a change from home,” she admitted, taking advantage of Alistair’s distraction to observe the human man. In a short stretch of time he seemed to have aged at least a decade; the spark of joy in his eyes seemed to have faded a little.

“What was your home like?” he picked up on her phrasing and glanced at her as he worked through the buckles keeping his armour on.

“Depends on the season,” Ri shrugged, deciding to follow suit as she began to unlace her leather wrist guards. “We moved around a lot; that’s sort of the point of being Dalish. I was born into the Sabrae clan and they raised me, so I was out in the forest pretty much from the beginning.”

“What happened to your parents?”

“They moved on,” Ri shrugged. “Amongst the Dalish you’re raised by your clan. My parents stuck around for a while. I think I was five or six when they left to join a different clan. My father had magic, so would have been in demand to take over as Keeper somewhere, and from the sounds of it my Mother would have followed him anywhere,” she trailed off, remembering that Alistair had lost his mother in childbirth, and had never known his father. It seemed a heavy topic to roll onto, but she suspected ignoring it might be worse. “What was it like for you growing up?”

“Similar story, I guess,” he mused. “Arl Eamon took an interest in how I was raised, but mostly I was raised by the staff of the castle. One of the old stable master’s daughters had had a baby about the same time I was born, so I was raised by them for the most part. In return Celia, their daughter was given a role in the castle; something that put her in the path of eligible knights. We had lessons together, she and I. Maker, she was such a brat. Of course the Arlessa preferred her to me. They gave me jobs, in the stable mostly, but also running errands, whatever I was told to do. Then when I was old enough I was sent to the monastery to study and train to be a templar. I’ve always thought I was sent away to get me out of Isolde’s sight. She had it in her mind that I was Eamon’s bastard.”

“It would explain why he favoured you,” Ri mused, surprised at how much Alistair was revealing. She had slipped from her lighter leather armour in half the time he was taking, and sat cross-legged on the bed in her linen undershirt and jodhpurs. She would have to find some spare clothes in the morning, and some place to wash this set as they were starting to smell a little ripe from the constant movement, but they would suffice for one more night. Mustela had climbed on to the bed, and stretched out. The large hound took up two thirds of the bed, but Ri was getting used to snuggling beside the warm creature, and human beds always felt a little oversized to her elvhen frame.

“It would,” he let out a small laugh, “but it’s not the case. He isn’t my father. He’s just a good man who took pity on a kid in need.”

“And that’s why you’re so certain he will help us?” it was beginning to make sense; Alistair’s faith in this mythical-sounding figure.

“I can’t imagine Eamon turning his back on Ferelden,” Alistair dropped his breastplate at the foot of his bed, then sat down with a long exhalation. “I just never imagined it would be me asking him.”

“Well it’s not just you on your own,” Ri offered. “I know this wasn’t quite how it was supposed to go, but I’m glad to be here with you.”

“I’ll bet you’d rather I was Daveth,” Alistair shot back, his voice odd; sounding something between a joke and a snide remark.

“Because I was willing to bed him?” Ri frowned. Alistair remained quiet, his back to Ri as he focused on buffing a particular spot on his breastplate. “We were going through a shared trauma, of course we were going to cling to one another. I wasn’t looking to commit to the guy; just to scratch an itch.” She paused, the silence stretched on longer. “What’s the problem, Templar? Judging me? Or jealous? I would have shared him with you had I known he had caught your eye too.” This caused Alistair to sputter, but Ri wasn’t interested in whatever retort he was going to dig out. “Goodnight, Alistair,” she said firmly, then pinched out the candle and lay down, the dog a reassuring warmth against her back.


	12. Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Water is named for the song by Bishop Briggs

Ri and Mustela woke before the lightly snoring former Templar. As she dressed, Ri kept stealing glances at Alistair, trying to even begin to figure him out. Asleep, he looked so young, his hair messily rejecting any semblance of order, his face released from grief and anxiety. She could wake him, she knew that, but it seemed almost cruel. Her own limited experience of the nightmarish Warden dreams was that they were worse at the beginning of the night, and the longer one slept, the more actual sleep they would get after the nightly ordeal of sight through darkspawn eyes.

Morrigan’s door was closed as Ri walked out of the inn’s guest residence, and it didn’t occur to her to knock upon it. Instead she simply walked past, Mustela padding behind as she descended the wooden stairs and entered the bar area.

“Morning,” the barmaid, a bored-looking human woman, nodded at her. “Father’s closing the inn tonight, you’ll need to be out of here by midday, else you’ll get boarded in.” Ri stopped, the young woman’s words sparking a jolt of fear in her.

“The darkspawn are that close?”

“Close enough as to get people worried.”

“Does anyone need any help in getting out of here?” Ri felt uncomfortable asking the question, but she knew Alistair would be concerned about the people leaving.

“Most of the refugees are in the care of the Chantry, you’d be best talking to the revered mother, or the templars. Don’t think there’s any locals who’ll struggle.”

“I don’t suppose you know of anyone with a spare horse and wagon? Or one they’d barter in exchange for assistance? Or any supplies? We’re running low on pretty much everything,” It was a long shot, Ri realised, but she asked anyway. The bartender shook her head.

“Unlikely, folks’ll be taking everything they can load up. One of the farmers, Harvey Shaw, he had an old one out front of his place, he’s probably already sold it on, but you never know - might be worth popping over and seeing what’s what. Otherwise there were a few things on the Chanters’ board this morning. Not sure if all the folk that put them up there are still around to pay up, but maybe worth a look. There’s a merchant in the square, but his prices are extortionate, so steer clear if you’re low on funds.”

“Thank you,” Ri had no idea what a Chanters’ board was, but it seemed a safe assumption that it was linked to the Chantry, so Alistair and Leliana could explain it later.

 

The village outside the inn was a hub of activity. Ri stepped into the street and gaped at the sheer number of people up and about in the dawn light. No one spoke to her, but she felt her otherness in every sidelong glance shot her way. They would look at Mustela first, interested in why a mabari warhound was in their little riverside village. Then their eyes would find her; a dirt-covered, dark-skinned elf, and there would be a reaction, tampered only by the armour she wore marking her as more than just a frightened refugee. For most of the people it was simply a widening of the eyes, then turning away and continuing about their business, their pace slightly hastened. For others it was more of a glare, a challenge against the outsider.

Ri kept her head resolutely high as she strolled back along the paths they had trod the previous night, heading for the bridge. The makeshift encampment between the village and the bridge was in the process of being dismantled, the refugees preparing to continue their journey north. Likewise, the bridge was clear save for the ashes of campfires, and a few broken boxes. Wondering whether the bandits had moved on to new prey, or were simply running like the rest of the southerners, Ri walked through the human detritus. As she strolled she scanned the piles of stuff discarded on the bridge. There wasn’t much of use, but Ri did find an almost clean blanket, marred with just a couple of holes. She picked it up, draping it over one arm, and continued over the bridge. Once outside of Lothering she crossed an empty field to get to a secluded spot of river. Mustela busied herself sniffing around the field, finding a quiet corner to relieve herself, whilst always staying within eyeline of her owner. Ri ducked behind some large wild grasses on the riverbank and removed her loosely buckled armour. She quickly divested herself of the undershirt and jodhpurs, as well as her undergarments, and then wrapped the folded blanket twice around her slender frame so it covered her from her chest to her thighs. The angry scars on her chest had faded a little, now a dark pink against her brown skin, they didn’t hurt, or possibly she had grown used to the pain, it was hard to tell which was true. Not caring too much about the cleanliness of the blanket, Ri waded into the shallow edge of the river and started to rinse the worst of the stains from her clothing. Blood, mud, and goodness only knew what else was purged from the sturdy material in the steady flow of the river. Ri emerged from the water, lying the slightly cleaner clothing on a rock, and looked around, ascertaining that no one was watching. Certain the coast was clear, she pulled the blanket away from her body, dropping it on a dry spot on the bank, then plunged into the deep middle of the river, suppressing a shriek at the coldness of the water. She worked with a ruthless efficiency, scrubbing her skin to try to shed the sweat and dirt that had accumulated during their travels. As she washed she found several new scars; jagged perforations where the darkspawn had shot her with her own arrows, as well as a map of bruises in various stages of healing. A jolt of emotional pain rocked her as she mourned the loss of her bow, the loss of her clan, the loss of everything she had once called home as well as of all the people that were to be her new home.

 

The sun had cleared the horizon as Ri climbed out of the river, drying herself with the blanket, before dressing in the slightly damp clothes, and buckling her Grey Warden armour on top, feeling closer to clean than she had in a while. The blanket served as a makeshift cloak, which she pulled over her shoulder, obscuring the Warden armour, but leaving her pointed ears on display. Mustela had returned to her side as she was dressing, and the two walked back across the field toward the bridge.

Part way there, Mustela’s ears flattened and the dog let out a questioning whimper. The short brown fur between her shoulderblades stood on end and she pressed close to Ri’s hip, warning the elf something wasn’t right. Ri pulled her blades from her belt, raising them as she pressed forward.

As the ground rose up to the level of the bridge, Ri drew into sight of the cause of Mustela’s caution. A figure was approaching; a folded over human figure resting heavily on a mabari hound. The figure had no helmet on, her jet black hair matted with blood, the red birthmark on her face barely visible. Ri sheathed her blades and rushed forward.

“Hawke?” she took the woman’s arm. “Where are you injured?”

“Where aren’t I injured?” the warrior groaned. Ri lifted the waterskin from her belt, uncorking it and pouring a little over Hawke’s parched lips before offering some to the hound.

“Let’s get you to the chantry,” not really knowing where else to go, but hoping by now her companions would be making their way there. “Mustela, go find Alistair,” the request was made more in hope than expectation, but the dog raced off ahead, returning when they were only partway across the camping field with a baffled Warden.

“Is this-” Alistair shook off his amazement and took Hawke’s other side, immediately lightening the load from Ri’s shoulder. “We thought you were dead. We should have gone back for you.” As they slowly approached the chantry, Leliana instructed a pair of templars to hold the doors, whilst two chantry sisters stepped forward with a stretcher.

“Laurel?” one of the sisters gasped, then looked up at Ri. “Her family are in the first house on your right across the footbridge. They’ve been waiting for news of the fighting before they move on.”

“I’ll get them,” Ri glanced at Alistair, Leliana, and Morrigan, who had been keeping out of the way of all the movement. “Stay here, I’ll be right back. Make sure that dog gets seen to; he carried her here.” Barely paying any heed to her bemused companions, Ri turned and left the doorway of the chantry, setting off at a run through the busy streets and across the small footbridge.

 

The first house on the right was relatively large, with a smartly painted front door. Ri knocked as heavily as she could. A young man answered, only opening the door a crack. Ri could hear female voices behind him.

“Yes?” he looked at her, a frown on his face. He had the fallen warrior’s jet black hair, and there was a definite similarity in the formation of his face.

“Hawke?”

“Who’s ask-”

“You are related to Laurel Hawke? Of the King’s army?” Ri cut through the boy’s attitude. He was at that awkward stage of growth; somewhere between child and adult, and as such he was trying too hard to appear older than he was.

“Yes, who are you?”

“Laurel is returned from the fight, she’s injured and has been taken to the chantry. You should go to her.” The boy paled.

“Bethany! Mother!” he shouted back into the house. “Laurel is hurt, we have to go.” A similarly aged girl appeared behind the boy, with their grey-haired mother completing the trio.

 

Ri led the worried family back to the chantry, where she deposited them with the injured soldier and her mabari, before rejoining her companions. To her surprise, Alistair was beaming, looking between Ri and Leliana with almost puppy-like glee.

“What’s going on?” Ri asked suspiciously.

“We spoke to the revered mother. She has a wagon, and a couple of horses.” Alistair grinned.

“She does have some conditions,” Leliana added with a sweet smile. “The first, I believe, you have already partially met in clearing the bandits from the bridge. There are reports of more bandits in the farmlands she would like us to clear out. Second; the locals have been complaining about the new merchant in the village square, he has set his prices extortionately high, so the revered mother would like us to have a word. Her final request she will only reveal once we have finished the first two.” Ri blinked, taking in the details of the tasks and momentarily surprised that the revered mother hadn’t wanted to talk to her. It had never been made official that she was the leader of this small group, but it had certainly felt that way. She bit back her questions, instead looking between Alistair and Leliana and wondering whether the two would use their religious connection to team up and start calling the shots.

Outside the chantry, however, the group all looked to Ri in anticipation of a plan. Quashing the small warmth of still being in charge, Ri made her decision quickly.

“Let’s go flush out some bandits then. Any thoughts?”

“Am I permitted to speak now?” Morrigan asked drily.

“Of course,” Ri frowned, turning a stern glare on the other two.

“We merely thought-” Ri could tell from Alistair’s light tones that he was about to try to downplay the situation with a joke.

“No,” she cut in. “Don’t be a dick,” she addressed her words to both Alistair and Leliana. “I will say this only once. We are doing this as a clan. Anyone travelling with us gets treated like a member of the clan.”

“Alright, alright,” Alistair raised his hands defensively. “Happy families it is then.”

 

They walked through Lothering in a less than comfortable silence. Leliana took the lead as she knew where the bandits were likely to be lurking. Ri let Alistair follow their new companion, whilst she and Mustela filled the space between the ex-templar and the mage. Over the bridge once more, they walked past the Hawke house, and through a gathering of homes, before the village petered out and became sprawling farmland.

The road was still busy with people, although the more Ri paid attention, the more it seemed like whilst some of them were packing their belongings and evacuating the village, there were a few who looked more to be bunkering down.

“They should be moving on,” she frowned, looking back to Morrigan. “What do you know of these people? Are they truly stubborn enough to think they can weather this Blight?”

“If you think that surprising, then you really do not know humans at all,” Morrigan replied.

“I really don’t,” Ri gave a shrug of her shoulders, thinking of the argument she and Alistair seemed to have stumbled into the night before. “Is it the attachment to the location? Or the fear of running to the unknown?”

“Most likely a bit of both,” Morrigan mused. “As well as a sense of pride that they have not in recent memory fallen to any calamity, and so they reckon themselves strong enough to withstand this one.”

“They’re idiots,” Ri scowled.

“Quite so,” the mage was spared any further response as they reached the outskirts of the village only to be greeted by a low muttering in a foreign tongue. The only word Ri caught that she thought she understood was the final word; ‘Qun’. Looking around, Ri quickly found the source of the voice; a metal cage stood beside a signpost. There was only just enough room for the occupant to stand within his cruel-looking prison. Leliana moved to pass the cage, but Alistair’s voice called her back as Ri made a move toward it, looking to get a view of the prisoner within.

Having never seen a Qunari before, Ri was more than a little intimidated by the immense size of the man. His bronze skin had a more metallic sheen than Ri’s nut brown shade, and his hair was an almost impossibly bright white. He was clearly a fighter; his build bulked out with muscles making Alistair’s strong form look small in comparison. His forehead bulged at each temple, but no horns sat atop his head, making Ri doubt for a moment whether he truly was a Qunari warrior. Nothing else could explain his colouring or his stature, so she decided to err on the side of assuming he was Qunari, or at least part-Qunari.

“You aren’t one of my captors,” he spoke to her, his tone accusative.

“No,” Ri agreed. “I’m not.”

“I am not here to amuse you. I say to you as I have said to the others. Leave me in peace.”

“Who put you here?” Ri felt her companions gather around her, but paid them no heed, instead letting her curiosity run free. The caged Qunari turned his head to look directly at Leliana.

“Ask this one. She has the look of the Chantry.” Leliana bristled at the accusation.

“The revered mother said he slaughtered an entire family. Even the children,” her voice was cold and steady, her words damning. Ri could feel her eyes widening in surprise as she stared at the prisoner.

“It is as she says,” he admitted, his tone unreadable.

“This is a proud and powerful creature,” Morrigan spoke, her voice low and close to Ri but not quite so low as to hide her words from the others. “Trapped as prey for the darkspawn. If you cannot see a use for him I suggest releasing him for mercy’s sake.”

“Mercy?” Alistair questioned, his tone mocking. “Not a sentiment I would have expected from you.”

“I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage,” Morrigan finished, her tone venomous. Ri sighed, seeing her dream of a harmonious travelling party dying ever more by the minute.

“I suggest you leave me to my fate,” the Qunari added his thoughts to the mix, taking Ri by surprise.

“Death by darkspawn is no quick thing,” she shuddered at the memories. “But then your crimes were particularly heinous.”

“And death shall be my atonement.”

“Defeating the Blight might also provide adequate atonement,” Morrigan spoke as if thinking aloud to herself.

“The Blight? Are you Grey Wardens then?” the Qunari picked up on the witch’s words.

“Some among us are,” Ri gave, struggling to make up her mind as to her feelings on the whole Qunari In A Cage scenario. It did seem incredibly brutal to leave a man in a cage ahead of a swiftly approaching Blight, but then she would have put a childkiller to the sword as soon as his guilt was ascertained, and this at least meant the same ultimate fate for the Qunari, albeit via far more unpleasant means. Freeing him would mean some level of risk that he might do it again.

“Surprising,” he cast doubts over her Grey Warden status, further raising her ire. “My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens’ strength and skill,” he trailed off, clearly appraising her with his unreadable eyes. “I suppose not every legend is true.”

“We have to be going,” Ri announced coldly, turning away from the criminal.

“To be left here to starve, or to be taken by the darkspawn, no one deserves that. Not even a murderer,” Leliana added her thoughts as Ri led the group away. The Qunari’s words had hit a little too close to home. They weren’t exactly fully fledged Grey Wardens, that was undoubtedly true. Somehow it was down to just the two of them to prevent this Blight from taking over the whole of Ferelden.

 

The bandit camp wasn’t too difficult to find. It was loosely fortified; a circle of hastily constructed wooden crate walls around a cold fire pit and half a dozen bedrolls. It appeared to be empty as Ri approached, gesturing for the others to hang back. She crept forward, glancing from side to side, quickly ascertaining the camp was abandoned.

“You think they heard we were coming?” Alistair asked, as she returned to the group.

“Us or the Blight,” Ri smirked. “Not sure who’s scarier; the four of us, or a whole horde of darkspawn.” She watched Alistair’s eyes slide sideways, looking toward Morrigan for a split second, before clearly thinking better of whatever he had been planning on saying. Ri fixed him with a knowing look, then gave the slightest of nods at his act of restraint.

“Ho there!” an angry shout came from the road out of Lothering. The small group turned to see three figures approaching. The three human men all appeared well armed and well armoured. Ri’s eyes immediately settled on the one furthest back, a long bow on his back.

“I want that bow,” she muttered as she passed between Leliana and Morrigan, glancing at Alistair to check that her words had travelled that far. He met her glance with an amused look in his eyes and Ri couldn’t help but to smile. A fleeting thought crossed her mind of the bizarre almost-argument they had shared the night before, before she shut the thought away. They had both been tired. There was nothing to dwell on.

“We’ll be taking your blades, knife-ears,” the first of the men demanded as Ri strode out to meet them.

“Not happening,” she returned. “My name is Warden Oriana Mahariel, of the Ferelden Grey Wardens. I will be keeping my weapons, and you and your friends will be leaving town. My colleagues and I are overseeing the evacuation of Lothering. Blight’s coming.” The man paused for a second, his eyes narrowed, then he let out a harsh barking laugh.

“You’re a Grey Warden?” he asked, looking between his buddies, then back at her. “Upstart deserter more like. What happened? Got tired of doing all their washing and cleaning, you decided to make a run for it? They don’t have elves in the Wardens.”

“They most certainly do,” Alistair erupted, just as Mustela let out a rumbling growl.

“This does not have to end badly for you,” Ri continued, trying not to let it show how much the insults had riled her anger. “Pack up your camp and head north.”

“Told you it was a Blight,” the other swordsman muttered, looking to his leader fearfully. “We got enough from the last lot, shouldn’t we just go?”

“Go if you want, Loughlin, got no time for cowards in my team.”

“Ri! On your left!” Alistair’s warning cry rang out across the two men’s squabbling, causing Ri to pivot on the ball of one foot. She turned just in time to meet a fourth, heavyset bandit with a rust-covered sword. Ri dropped to one side, rolling across the stony path into a low crouch, snarling at her attacker. Within seconds she leapt up once more, her knives out in front of her, pushing the man backward until he stumbled, dropping to one knee.

“Drop your sword,” she hissed. The bandit looked to Ri’s companions, then let out a low chuckle.

“You’re outnumbered, knife ears,” he said, a smug gloat to his voice. Ri kept her eyes on him as she heard movement around her, and a low growl from Mustela. Leliana gave a sharp intake of breath, just as Morrigan let out a sigh.

“Drop. Your. Sword.” she repeated firmly. Slowly, the man uncurled his fingers, letting the weapon fall to the floor. The clang it made as metal bounced on the stony ground seemed to be the signal for his men to attack. Sword forgotten, the bandit pulled a knife from his belt, pushing himself up and starting forward. The human towered over her, knife out, whilst Ri lifted her own blades, moving on the balls of her feet to keep out of his reach. Ri could hear swords clashing, as well as the sparks of Morrigan’s spells, and the faint thrumming of the archer’s bow.

The bandit struck first, a low blow that Ri easily dodged. Her return lunge was met by his dagger, deflecting her to one side. A yelp behind her indicated that someone had been hit, it wasn’t a voice Ri recognised, so she pressed on.

“I don’t want to have to hurt you,” she declared, immediately betraying her own words as she landed a heavy kick on the side of the man’s knee, sending him staggering.

“Bitch!”came the incensed reply as the man righted himself and renewed his attack. He limped back toward her, using his greater size to loom over her. Ri couldn’t help but to give a chuckle at the sight. She had seen this so many times before whenever she and Tamlen had run into hostile humans in the forest. Every time they saw a smaller figure in her and decided brute force was the way to go. Ri watched the man’s approach, then leapt at him, avoiding his knife arm as she scaled him like a tree, kicking at his ribs as she clamboured up to his shoulders. He struggled, but within moments Ri was perched on his back, her legs wrapped tightly about his throat.

“I do not want to kill you,” she spoke slowly, finally taking a glance around at the rest of the skirmish. Mustela had a man pinned, one bandit already lay on the floor, clutching at his middle. Alistair was pinned between two swordsmen, whilst Leliana had an easier time of it with just the one opponent, more than holding her own with her delicate sword. Morrigan stood a little way from the drama, thrusting her staff toward the archer. “Tell them to stop, or I slit your throat,” she hissed into her bandit’s ear.

“Neve-” she squeezed her thighs tighter around his neck, not quite sure whether she was willing to follow through with her threat. The bandit clawed at her shins with his hands, the dagger seemingly forgotten, but he couldn’t get a good grip. Ri sighed at the stubbornness of the man and squeezed harder still, hearing him begin to gasp for breath. Across the path she watched as the two men started to over power Alistair, making her task a little more urgent. One of the former-templar’s opponents lunged forward and suddenly Alistair went sprawling across the floor. A moment later the man that had hit him was unmoving, his skin immediately tinged blue as a freezing spell took over him. Morrigan had dealt with the archer and looked ready to take on Alistair’s last opponent. With a slight pop, Morrigan was suddenly no longer there, in her place stood an immense spider, causing Ri immediately to think of the elven ruins and the disastrous adventure that had started this entire affair.

“Everybody just stop,” she shouted as the large man beneath her started to topple to the floor. Ri rode him down to the ground, then stood on his unconscious body, looking around at the huffing and puffing fighters. “Are you really willing to die, just for the sheer stubbornness of wanting to rob some starving refugees?” The bandits looked around for a moment, seemingly unsure of who was supposed to talk when their leader was incapacitated. “Just drop your weapons, take your friends and go. No one needs to die today, not for this sort of stupidity.”

 

As the now unarmed bandits ran for the hills, carrying their fallen comrades, Ri found herself hurrying to where Alistair lay on the ground. His eyes were open and he was letting out a low groaning sound. Ri knelt by his side, a pang of worry in her chest as she realised they didn’t have any potions or poultices to cope with the sort of wounds a scrappy fight like that could cause.

“Hey, you alright?” she asked, pulling some crumpled and slightly wilting elfroot leaves from her belt pocket. “Chew on these,” she pressed them into his hand.

“Thanks,” he grimaced, his arms and legs moving slowly as he tested each limb for pain. Ri waited beside him as he chewed the medicinal plant, then offered him her hand. For what seemed like an eternity, she crouched there, his hand clasped in hers, their eyes locked. Something tore at Ri’s insides; filling her not with the pain of the darkspawn taint, but with a familiar warmth. Without waiting to see if Alistair had also felt something at this unexpectedly intimate moment, Ri broke the eye contact, looking around at the rest of her crew as she pulled the ex-templar to his feet. Without waiting to see if he was alright, she walked away, locating her new bow and inspecting the battered weapon. Refusing to think about anything other than the task at hand, she pulled out a few of the arrows from the worn leather quiver and tested their weight and construction.

“Ri?” Alistair’s voice, irritatingly chipper, came from immediately behind her.

“Gather any food or weapons from their camp,” she shot back, unable to put words to quite why she felt so annoyed, and a little embarrassed by her obvious irritation. “The revered mother is waiting.”

 


	13. Craving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Craving' is named for the song by James Bay

The small band of four, plus the trailing mabari, returned to Lothering with a small bounty of coin, weaponry and food harvested from the bandits’ camp. Leliana and Alistair wanted to head straight to the refugees in the chantry to start redistributing the stolen goods, but Ri bade them wait a moment. They entered the village square and Ri motioned for her group to remain still, their arms filled with swords, shields, and sacks of vegetables. After tucking the coin-heavy pouch into her belt pocket, Ri made her approach, coming up very short when compared to the human merchant and his wagon of goods, but with a mabari by her side to negate any weakness in her appearance.

“Well met,” she offered formally, her voice raised a little more than perhaps needed. A nearby chantry sister glanced over, but didn’t make any move to join them.

“You have coin?” the merchant asked dismissively.

“My name is Warden Oriana Mahariel, of the Ferelden Grey Wardens. We’re evacuating Lothering, and every other village in the path of the Blight. I must insist you cease trading and move along,” it wasn’t exactly what the revered mother had requested, but it was a way of solving the problem, Ri decided. It also was the same not entirely inaccurate story she had told the bandits. Given that Loghain was spreading lies about the Wardens, it seemed a good idea to be consistent in how they presented themselves.

“You’re not one of them,” the merchant nodded his head toward the chantry, then spat on the ground.

“It’s time to move on,” Ri pressed, attempting to sound authoritative.

“I’ve the right to charge what I reckon my goods are worth,” the merchant was clearly fixed upon his position. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a little coin if you’ll get the Chantry folk off my back. What say you? Fancy making a profit in helping a beleaguered businessman?”

“I’m not sure it would be worth your expenditure,” Ri smiled coolly. “My friends over there,” she gestured to the others. “We just happen to have come into some profit of our own, and we’ll be dishing these things out to the needy in Lothering. Why would anyone come to you when they can get food and weapons for free?”

“Oh step down, girl,” the merchant seemed to puff up in anger. “I’ve a hundred silvers if you leave me be and get the sisters to lay off.”

“You may get some custom from me, but you will make no more coin from the people of Lothering. I do have a couple of things I would be looking to buy from you, for a fair price, of course. Then you will be moving on from this place, and be thankful that I don’t exercise my right as a Warden in times of Blight and simply commandeer your wares for the war effort.”

“Are you really a Grey Warden?” Ri’s improvised officiousness seemed to be working on the profiteering merchant.

“Yes.”

“Quite a bounty on your head, I hear.” Her hopes fell a little at the merchant’s words. Without thinking, she dropped one hand to the hilt of her blade. “No need for that. I remember the tales of the Wardens of old. I’ll move on. No business to be done in a ghost town anyway. What was it you were after?” Ri turned her head briefly and gave a nod to Alistair, Leliana, and Morrigan. The heavily laden humans started on into the chantry whilst Ri quickly prepared a shopping list.

“Arrows, a spare bowstring, and however much parchment I can get for this,” she pulled out the coin pouch and emptied half of its contents into the palm of her hand.

 

Quiver re-filled, Ri entered the chantry, leaving the merchant beginning to pack his wares into his wagon. The immense building was unlike anything Ri had ever seen before. For a moment she stood there, taking in the sheer size and unexpected beauty. Large stained glass windows let in the mid-morning light, which shone through light swirls of smoke from several large braziers, and several religious-clad men with incense burners. Several armour-clad men were marching about the place, overseeing the packing of books and shiny gold relics into wooden crates. Chantry sisters were gathering and soothing the remaining refugees.

“Warden!” the young Hawke boy saw her and beckoned for her to join him and his family beside a stretcher. Ri looked around quickly, not seeing her companions anywhere, then decided to join the Hawkes.

“You’re looking better,” she passed judgement over Laurel Hawke, whose rank she had never asked. The dark-haired soldier had a little more colour to her face as she lay surrounded by her family.

“Feeling much better, thanks.”

“What’s the plan now?”

“I hear tell Loghain’s in charge now? And he’s called for all treacherous Grey Wardens to be arrested and brought to him?” The anger in Hawke’s eyes was unmistakeable. Ri simply nodded, her lips tightly pursed. “Bastard,” the elder Hawke woman gasped at her daughter’s strong language. “We’ve got family in the north, so we’ll travel with the revered mother and the other refugees for a while, then split off and head up to Kirkwall. You could come with us?”

“Sounds great,” Ri smiled, “but I’ve got to stop this Blight. Too many people have died already just to get me this far, I owe it to them to continue. I don’t suppose I could tempt you into becoming a Warden?”

“Not a chance,” Hawke let out a low chuckle. “Call me selfish, but I’ve got to get my family to safety.”

“I understand,” Ri gave a sigh.

“Come to Kirkwall, when this is all over. I’ll make sure there’s a hot meal and a cold drink waiting for you.”

“I’ll be there,” the two fighters shook hands, then Ri got to her feet and looked around, leaving the Hawke family to plan their next moves.

“Your friends went to the back of the chantry. The revered mother’s office is on the right,” the younger Hawke girl spoke softly, her intense eyes locked on Ri’s.

“Thank you,” the Warden replied, a little unnerved by the young woman’s composure.

 

Hurrying through the chantry, Ri rounded a corner and found her companions standing in front of a sturdy older human woman. Leliana and Alistair appeared to be updating her on the bandit situation whilst Morrigan stood uncomfortably to one side.

“And this must be the final member of your team?” the revered mother asked, causing Leliana and Alistair to turn their heads, stepping aside to admit Ri into the small gathering.

“This is Warden Oriana,” Alistair finished the introduction. “Ri, this is the revered mother.”

“I must extend to you my thanks, Warden,” the revered mother spoke in slow, gentle words. “I hear tell the roads are now safe for my people to lead the refugees from Lothering?”

“The way out of the village, at least, is freely passable,” Ri confirmed. “And the merchant is packing up too, but would be willing to accept reasonable prices for his wares for anyone who catches him before he leaves.”

“That is truly wonderful news,” the woman smiled beatifically.

“Leliana and Alistair said you might have a wagon for us,” Ri pressed on, seeing that the woman wasn’t about to be forthcoming on that matter.

“Ah, yes, we do have a wagon and a sturdy pony we could spare. There is just one more thing I must ask of you,” Ri bit back her impatient request that the woman talk faster.

“Yes, your reverence?” Alistair asked, somehow presenting himself with an air of deference that Ri knew she would never have been able to pass off.

“The Qunari. I presume you have seen him?”

“Yes,” Ri admitted.

“I cannot in good faith leave him in that cage to be savaged by the oncoming Blight, but I do not have templars enough to take him with us to seek the Maker’s justice wherever we end up. It might have been kinder to execute him, but that time has passed. I ask that you take him into your custody. Perhaps that is why the Maker sent you to me; to find a purpose for this monster.” Ri didn’t know what to say.

“What was his crime?” she asked, hoping to stall the woman long enough that she could come up with a way of getting the wagon without having to take the Qunari prisoner with them.

“He slaughtered an entire farmhold. One child survived long enough to tell us what had happened. The child said his father found the Qunari gravely wounded, took him in and tended to his wounds. This act of kindness was met with vicious murder. The bann’s men found the Qunari just standing there, surrounded by a scene of indescribable carnage. He did not resist them, and has not attempted to break free from his cage here in town.”

“These are unusual times,” Leliana spoke up. “Perhaps he could be of some use, he might even be persuaded to do some good. I am sure of it.” Ri looked from the Chantry sister to Alistair, hoping he wasn’t about to pipe up with his own talk of dreams sent from the Maker. The former templar seemed to have nothing to say, but Morrigan voiced her opinion, her voice low but delivered with conviction from her place to one side of the group.

“As I said before; use him or release him. Anything else would be an unnecessary cruelty.”

“Is there somewhere I can talk to Alistair in private?” Ri asked the revered mother, too conflicted to make the decision on her own, and too overwhelmed by the voices around her.

“Certainly,” the revered mother gestured toward an unassuming doorway. “Through there, you will be undisturbed for as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” Ri gave an unconvincing smile before crossing the flagstones and pushing open the door. She found herself in a small study, the desk taking up a third of the floor space. As Alistair followed her in, closing the door behind him, Ri realised just how crowded the room seemed with two people in it. In a bid to make some space, she found a clear spot on the wooden desk and took a seat there, which did her the favour of raising her up a little so her head was almost at the height of Alistair’s.

“Well this is cosy,” he joked, although his face showed concern. “What’s on your mind?” Ri met Alistair’s eyes, once more feeling a sensation in her chest that she didn’t want to put words to.

“You really want to bring a wild Qunari with us? One who freely admits he has killed people, children? I thought it was going to be something like accompanying the refugees to wherever they’re going. But this?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to leave him here to die,” Alistair admitted. “And we can’t send him along with the revered mother and the refugees.”

“We could,” Ri scowled, then straightened her face at Alistair’s frown. “I know, I know, to what end? The templars will be busy with the next set of bandits, they don’t have enough number to do both; might as well just execute him or set him free.”

“Neither of which are great ideas,” Alistair’s voice was low, calming, as he drew closer to the desk.

“So we take him,” Ri sighed, dropping her gaze to her mud-stained hands. “We travel on with him in our custody. Then what? Is he our prisoner? Do we take the cage? Is he actually likely to want to find redemption in facing the Blight? Or is he going to take one look at us, the two most underwhelming Grey Wardens in the whole history of Thedas, and stroll off into the world to continue his family murdering.”

“You are far from underwhelming, Ri,” Alistair rested his hands on the back of the chair, standing just a little too close. Ri lifted her gaze to look at his hands. There was so little room between them she could reach out and touch him, if she wanted. The thought popped unbidden into her mind and she tried to quash it before it drew on her need for contact and grew into more than a thought. “I know this isn’t what you signed up for.” She let out a dark chuckle.

“I signed up for a cure for my impending death,” she shrugged. “And so far I’m not dead, and not quite so close to death as I was, so you’ve more than fulfilled Duncan’s offer.”

“I, for one, am glad you’re not dead,” he pressed on. “And I’m glad you’re with me. I was a clumsy idiot last night. And yes, possibly a little jealous of how well you got on with Daveth,” Ri’s eyes snapped up immediately to find his. “I apologise for being such a child about it.”

“Well I bet that took guts to say,” she gave, trying to calm the sudden whirling sensation in her stomach. Ri lifted her hand, reaching out and resting her palm on the blood-spattered armour of his arm, only realising what she had done after she had done it. “And it’s a little irrelevant, Daveth and I were never going to be anything more than a brief entanglement whilst we found our feet. If you are interested, you just have to say so rather than making jibes about things I did a lifetime ago whilst I was scared and angry and pretty sure I was about to die. As opposed to the things I might do now, when I’m really bloody scared, a little less angry, and death is hot on our heels.”

“I-” Alistair’s face changed in quick succession, surprise warring with something more intense, finally settling into a soft, almost sad expression.

“Oh shit,” Ri dropped her hand quickly, suddenly aware that she might have gone too far. “Sor-” her apology was cut off as Alistair closed the space between them, taking half a step forward to stand before her knees. Without thinking, Ri parted her legs, moving her knees out of the way and allowing her fellow Warden to draw even closer as he lowered his head. Their lips met, and Ri felt her eyes closing, shutting the world out as she lifted one hand to cup Alistair’s cheek, then moved it higher to thread her fingers through his short red hair. His strong hands rested almost chastely on her waist as he pressed close to her, their lips moving in unison. All thoughts of Blights and Qunari were banished as Ri felt a rush of exhilaration course through her. For all his flippancy, there was a deep goodness about Alistair that she would have been a fool not to notice. There was no knowing what the future brought, but for the moment this felt more than good.

After a long moment Ri broke the kiss, placing both of her palms against Alistair’s chest and gently pushing him away, creating space between them once more.

“We’ll return to that later,” she promised. “For now we’ve got to enlist a possibly dangerous Qunari to our cause.” Alistair said nothing for entirely too long, his eyes seemingly drinking her in until Ri started to feel self-conscious. She pushed any loose strands of hair behind her long ears and met Alistair’s gaze with her own challenging stare “In a chantry, of all places,” she chuckled, pushing herself from the desk and suddenly losing several inches to Alistair’s very human height.

“What can I say?” Alistair recovered his voice and his sense of humour. “You are a terrible influence on me, Oriana,” the way he said her name sent a jolt of delight through Ri as she brushed past him, her fingers brushing his gauntlet-clad hands.

 

Returning to the small group in the main room of the chantry, Ri felt like a young child who had just gotten away with doing something naughty. She fought the urge to reach out and touch Alistair, to place herself purposely beside him, instead letting her restless fingers fall upon the mabari’s withers, scratching a completely different sort of itch as she greeted the revered mother. The more rational part of her brain reminded her that she was missing Tamlen, missing the playful companionable touching of home and her clan,

“We shall take the Qunari, should he wish to come with us,” she announced. “We will do our utmost to keep him from trouble.” The decision didn’t sit easily upon Ri’s shoulders, but she felt very much backed into a corner with no real choice.

“Maker watch over you, child,” the revered mother placed one hand on Ri’s shoulder, causing her to bristle slightly at the diminutive term.

“Thank you,” Ri replied coolly. The revered mother slipped one hand into the pocket of her robes, retrieving a heavy iron key. The metal was cold and heavy in her hands, Ri immediately passed it to Alistair, not wanting to bear the responsibility it represented. His golden brown eyes sought hers, and for a moment she met his gaze, before looking back to the revered mother. “When do you think you will be travelling?”

“In the morning,” came the unhurried answer. “It will take us a while to get packed, and I dare say we won’t travel as fast as you. The arms you brought will be distributed amongst our templars, we should make it to Wulverton within a day or two.”

“Maker be with you,” Leliana gave earnestly as the revered mother beckoned over a templar who could only have been a year or so older than Alistair. Ri found herself yearning to know more about Alistair’s youth, about what had driven him to become a templar, and then what Duncan had done or said to change his path.

“Lieutenant, if you would please show the Wardens to the wagon I asked to be set aside?”

 

To Ri’s surprise, the revered mother had not only furnished them with a wagon and a very sturdy dappled grey pony, but also there were two crates of fresh vegetables in the belly of the wagon, along with a large pile of blankets, a flint and a generous helping of tinder wrapped up in an oilskin to keep dry. Some sturdy plain clothes sat folded atop the blankets, in turn weighed down by a small silver idol. Ri raised her eyebrows at the religious iconography, but knew better than to bite the hand that was very generously seeing them on their way.

Leliana retrieved her meagre belongings from the Chantry, whilst Morrigan, Alistair, and Ri all pulled their camping equipment from packs and pouches upon their persons, dropping it all neatly into the back of the wagon.

“Does anyone have any final business here in Lothering?” Ri asked gravely, knowing as well as the others did that with the darkspawn on the march it was highly likely Lothering would not stand in just a few days time. “No? Right, how do we do this then? One or two on the wagon, the others walking alongside?”

“Usually wagons are led through the town, keeps the pony more under control,” Leliana advised. “The roads are usually more busy though.”

“Two in the wagon and one leading the pony, the other walking alongside, then,” Ri corrected. “Mustela will walk too. That way we can have someone sleep on the road and we can travel for as long as the light gives. It’s how we travelled back in the forest.”

 

It took a little organising, with everyone insisting they were able to walk, and no one wanting to take the first ride in the wagon, but eventually they started moving through the village, Leliana sitting up front in the wagon whilst Ri busied herself in the back, rearranging things and doing a quick inventory of their food supplies. Alistair took his place at the pony’s left shoulder, whilst Morrigan and Mustela trailed behind. Ri wasn’t sure who looked more fed up with the development, the witch or the hound. The journey to the edge of the village didn’t take too long, and in that short space they learnt that the pony, whilst a little lazy, was perfectly capable of pulling the wagon, and unfazed by her new owners.

 

The Qunari stood as he previously had; secure within the wrought iron cage, his eyes half-closed as he chanted in his own language. Ri motioned for Alistair to join her in walking from the cart to the cage. There she stopped, her voice lost to a sudden overwhelming nervousness. Something touched her hand, causing her to flinch before realising it was the iron key Alistair was handing to her. Ri cast a sideways glance at the Warden and scowled at his readiness to let her do the hard work.

“You wish more of me?” the Qunari spoke, capturing her attention.

“The Blight is drawing closer,” Ri started with blatant statements of fact. It seemed easier to sidle up to the point of her being there. “When we spoke before; you seemed to know what that meant; what a Blight is and what Grey Wardens are.”

“Yes?” The Qunari did not seem impatient so much as disinterested.

“And you know what remaining here, in your prison, what that would mean for you? And you are happy with this?”

“I have come to terms with the sentence that has been passed,” came the dolorous response.

“But no one really wants to die like this, helplessly awaiting a really nasty death,” Ri pressed, glaring at Alistair, who simply shrugged. “We have an alternative proposal,” she sighed. “We have spoken with the revered mother and she has given us the key to your cage. Should you choose atonement over punishment I shall release you from your prison. The terms of your release will be that you join the fight. Help me end this Blight and you will earn your freedom.”

“I confess, I did not think the priestess likely to change her mind. What must you have said to persuade her?” Ri stilled, not wanting to do or say anything to disillusion the large warrior. “Very well,” he continued. “Open the door and I shall follow you against this Blight.” After a moment, Ri stepped forward. Her hand shook a little as she placed the key in the lock, having to work to turn it against years of rust. The door opened without too much resistance, and only the slightest of squealing hinges. Ri stepped back, her hands instinctively resting on the hilts of her blades.

“We head west then,” Ri announced, walking slowly toward the cart, hoping against hope the Qunari was true to his word. “Take turns riding and walking, camp at nightfall,” she looked to Alistair, silently imploring him to say something; anything to back her up.

“What do you bring to the fight?” support came from an unexpected place as Morrigan questioned the Qunari.

“I have spent my life in the vanguard. I know war,” he replied. “And you look like you need all the help you can get. Unless there is some army hidden beyond the trees?”

“No army, think of us as a stealth force,” Ri confirmed, climbing back into the wagon to resume her inspection and rearranging of their equipment. “What do we call you?”

“I am Sten,” thankfully the Qunari, Sten, seemed to be forthcoming with his responses.

“Nice to meet you Sten,” Leliana joined in. “I am Leliana-”

“Are you here for religious support? I will have no need for your priestly ministrations.”

“What?” Ri lifted her head and glared at their newest companion. “Leliana’s quite the fighter.”

“She is dressed in priestess garbs; not the mannish clothing you wear.”

“Well just hold up. What are you talking about?” Ri bristled at the continued show of disrespect.

“You are a woman, are you not? Yet you dress in the garb of men, you bear arms. This priestess dresses as a woman. Women do administrative work, they do not fight.” Ri could feel the derision on her face.

“What nonsense,” she scoffed. “I’m dressed practically, nothing to do with being a man.”

“I shall not dare to ask what you think of me,” Morrigan drawled.

“You are clearly an abomination,” Sten gave drily, causing Alistair to sputter a little.

“Well, this is going to be fun,” Ri sighed, pulling an apple from their food supply and biting into it.

 

The group travelled at a steady rate all day, switching positions so everyone had a chance to rest at some point. They ate as they walked, not wanting to lose any time unnecessarily. As the afternoon shadows drew long, Ri disappeared into the woodlands they were passing through, catching up with the wagon with a trio of rabbits strung over her shoulder. The lean meat would probably not stretch past one meal for their growing group, and Mustela would demolish the carcasses without pausing to breathe, but it would suffice for the day’s end, especially when paired with the more perishable items the revered mother had given them.

“We head for Redcliffe?” Leliana questioned as she walked alongside Ri.

“Yes, Alistair grew up there and knows the arl, so hopefully we should find safe haven there for a while, restock, and find some allies before we have to start using the treaties.”

“I hear the Chantry in Redcliffe is particularly beautiful,” the sister smiled, her hair shining with copper highlights in the low sunlight. Ri silently remarked that she really didn’t look like a fighter, then reminded herself of the ruthless efficiency she had displayed against Loghain’s men. Added to that, there was the fairly recent revelation that Morrigan could change her shape. Ri still felt incredibly out of her depth, but there was a tiny glimmer of hope building within her as she thought of her small army. Her small army, and the one person she was actively not thinking about. Not that he was ever far from her thoughts. Alistair’s presence seemed to have set up a constant position in her awareness. As she walked with Leliana, Alistair sat up front on the wagon, Sten walking to his side whilst Morrigan rested on their camping supplies, her eyes closed serenely although Ri doubted the woman was actually sleeping. Ri didn’t have to look back to know that Alistair’s eyes were on her. All the same, she turned her head, her eyes catching his for a split second before she faced forward again. The corners of her mouth threatened to turn upward into the same goofy smile Alistair was broadcasting. His unashamed joy seemed so childish to Ri, who much preferred to keep a check on her emotions, and she certainly didn’t want the rest of the group to see her as some giddy young thing in the throes of a new dalliance. Not now, whilst things were going as well as she could expect them to.

She was almost annoyed at the bubbling excitement that sent disconcerting ripples through her stomach. It had probably only been two or three weeks since she has last been with Tamlen, but it felt an entire lifetime had passed for Ri. Yet this tiny spark of a something felt right and more than that, it had reminded Ri that she had spent so long sharing a bedroll and had been missing the sensation of being silently with someone

 

“Alistair, I simply must take first watch with you,” Leliana’s cheerful lilting voice sounded across the campsite before Ri could say anything to the contrary. “I wish to know all about how you came to the Maker’s Word.” Alistair turned wide eyes on Ri, silently beseeching her to intervene. She could have come up with some urgent Warden business, or some other way to ensure she and Alistair shared a watch, but instead she simply raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders. As much as she had been nursing her desire for physical contact, she could hold out a little longer; they had plenty of travelling time ahead of them. Wordlessly, Ri challenged her paramour to make the move; to take some course of action to alter his own fate. He did nothing of the sort, instead capitulating to Leliana’s request with a bashful smile. Ri suppressed a sigh, amusement warring with frustration at the almost-templar’s reluctance to take action. His passive nature would come to annoy her in time, she just knew it. In the short term, however, she would be able to use it to their mutual advantage.

 

Before retiring to her tent, Ri casually approached Alistair as he was building up the fire.

“Hey,” she smiled. “I’m just about to turn in.”

“You could have saved me, earlier,” he groaned, his eyes intensely fixed on hers.

“You could have saved yourself,” Ri commented with a light smile.

“I could,” Alistair frowned, a flicker of disappointment to his voice. “That’s that then?”

“I got you a present,” Ri changed the subject abruptly, digging into her new quiver and pulling out a sheaf of parchment, a slightly battered quill, and a small bottle half filled with black ink.

“Where did you-”

“That damned merchant. Used some of the money from the bandits. I thought you wanted to write out your account of Ostagar, the names of the fallen and all that. To send to Weisshaupt,” she trailed off, having watched Alistair’s face run through the full range of emotions, from surprised through sadness and back to this intense openness; wide-eyed intimacy even as they stood untouching beside the fire. He, more than any other human she had met, was so open with his feelings, something Ri was finding both endearing and frustrating as she tried to get to know the man behind the Warden uniform. The glint of wetness at the corner of his eyes reminded him that he was still dealing with the loss of his mentor, his King, and his fellow Grey Wardens. In Ri’s book grief earned someone a few second chances.

“I don’t know what to say,” he reached out for the parchment, his fingers covering Ri’s as she held out her offering. “I- I mean, thank you, of course. Thank you for doing this. You didn’t have to.”

“In a way I did,” Ri shrugged, making no move to withdraw her hand. “It’s my duty as well as yours, Alistair. I meant what I said before; I’m in this with you. I may not have had half the Warden training you had, but I don’t take any of this lightly. And I meant what I said about learning my letters, although not tonight - I need some sleep, and between keeping records and Leliana I think you’ll be kept busy.”

“I can think of other ways I’d rather be kept busy,” Alistair lowered his voice, although there was no one within earshot.

“Wake me up early for my watch,” Ri returned suggestively. “Come to my tent and we can get into more details on just how busy you want to be.” Alistair caught her meaning almost instantly, his eyes widening.

“You sure?”

“Good night, Alistair,” Ri grinned, turning her back on her fellow Warden and giving a small chuckle at how much had changed in only one passage of the sun; ending one day with terse words, and the next with this new and unexpected intimacy. Sauntering to her tent with perhaps an intentional sway to her hips, Ri retreated to privacy and finally allowed herself to grin like a moon-touched young maiden. It had been some time since she had last felt the stirrings of attraction toward someone new.

 


	14. Mine Right Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alert! The rating for this fic has changed from M to E. If you don't want read any explicit content skip this chapter and go straight to the next one.
> 
> Song title used as chapter title is by the wonderful Sigrid

The dreams were getting worse. The escalation in terror came in the form of a reprieve from the endless marching of the band of darkspawn Ri’s subconscious Warden powers had attached her to that night. Where before she had dreamt of the constant hunger, the endless marching as the splintered groups roamed aimlessly, waiting for the archdemon to reappear, now things were different.

Ri found herself watching the scene unfold, whilst simultaneously she embodied each of the genlocks. They were crashing through wooden fencing. The air was thick with the screams of livestock, the cries were so panicked, so distorted that Ri couldn’t even begin to tell what animal it was. Her revulsion warred with an all consuming hunger; her mouths were watering, as some of her darkspawn forms grabbed hold of the terrified creatures, crouching over them protectively. Anger warred with hunger as they batted away any other genlock that dared to get too close. Ri felt in excruciating clarity as her sharp teeth tore through the flesh of the still struggling animal. Warm blood spurted over her face, then began trickling down her cheeks and chin. The animal thrashed harder, fighting for longer than the elf part of Ri believed possible. Another bite, this one cut through the bones of the creature’s vertebrae, rendering it immediately lifeless.

Another genlock and then another took one of these sheep or goat sized animals, dispatching it with cruel and savage movements. There was none of the efficiency Ri used when hunting for her own food. It was a bloodbath beneath the pale moon, her eyes seemingly accustomed to the low light in her darkspawn form.

As the frenzied attack drew to a close a disconcerting half-silence fell, the only sounds being the visceral crunching of bones and ripping of flesh, and the occasional snarl or hiss as each genlock protected their kill.

 

Ri opened her eyes, real growls breaking her from her nightmare. She was in the darkness of her tent, a warm body pressed against her back. There were no darkspawn, no feeding frenzy, no blood. She was safe.

“Oh shush now dog,” a voice cut in. For what seemed like a long time Ri lay still, her body frozen in fear. Silently she repeated her affirmations; no darkspawn, no feeding, no blood, only safety, until she came fully to her senses. Mustela was lying beside her, a bedroll set up for the mabari as they now had enough camping equipment to be frivolous. The voice was Alistair’s; low and tentative.

“Mustela,” Ri croaked, her throat suddenly dry and her voice wobbly. “It’s ok girl. Off you go; do your business.” The hound stopped growling as soon as Ri spoke, then sprung impossibly lightly to her paws and pushed her way out of the light canvas tent, the movement allowing a little more moonlight in. The darkness lifted just a little, but enough to show a tiny silver reflection on the Warden’s armour, and the silhouette of his crouched figure.

“You alright?” he asked. “You were tossing and turning; bad dreams?”

“Yeah,” Ri shrugged, not thinking that the gesture wouldn’t be able to be seen in the dark of the tent. “Come in,” she croaked. “What I wouldn’t give for more of whatever that balm was that Carol had. Although, shouldn’t we be sharing what we dream about? Gleaning information or whatever?”

“I suppose we should,” Alistair mused as he awkwardly entered the tent, his armour limiting his mobility. “The crucial thing is knowing when the archdemon enters play. Until then we can assume the darkspawn are everywhere in the South. If we’re lucky they’ll be wandering fairly aimlessly until then-” he broke off in surprise. Ri had pushed herself up to her knees and closed the distance between them, busying herself with loosening his armour straps, although the task was not the simplest when she couldn’t see what she was doing.

“They’re not quite so aimless,” she spoke quietly, her voice laden with the horror of her nightmare. “They’re hungry. Thankfully it was only a herd of animals they found, not anything else. People won’t believe it’s a Blight until too late; who knows how many people stayed in Lothering, or in isolated places around here,” she sighed, silently tugging at a particularly stiff leather strap which didn’t seem to want to come undone.

“We don’t have to do this,” Alistair’s bare hands found Ri’s and he stilled her inelegant ministrations.

“We don’t,” she agreed. “But I would like to. I would like a moment that is not spent worrying about evil monsters and saving the world. You?”

“Maker, yes. I want this more than anything,” he breathed, his voice laden with earnest desire.

“Then help me out, hey?” she teased, snaking her hands up his metal-covered chest and to his head, gently pulling his face toward her. Their lips met, almost as Ri had intended; kissing in the dark turned out to need a little guesswork at precisely where each party’s lips were. Alistair’s hands found her waist; she was clad only in a large linen shirt, something from the Chantry, several sizes too large for the lithe elf, and which hung almost to her knees. He let out a little moan of appreciation, the action reverberating against her lips, causing Ri to smile as they pressed together. Playfully, Ri broke the kiss and pulled away.

“Armour off,” she ordered, her voice barely more than a whisper made deeper with her wanting.

“Yes ser,” Alistair returned in equally loaded tones. Ri shuffled back onto her bedroll, remaining on her knees as she waited. Excitement warred with impatience. Alistair’s disrobing was taking far too long. With each piece of armour he removed, there was the soft clink of metal against metal as he stacked it on Mustela’s bedroll.

“You get much written this evening? Or did Leliana keep you busy?” she asked conversationally. Alistair merely grunted, seemingly struggling with something. “Need a hand?”

“Bloody breastplate,” he cursed. “It’s bad enough in the daylight, but in a dark, confined space-”

“Hold still,” Ri laughed, manoeuvring around the tent on her knees to keep from hitting her head on the low branch that held it up. Her hands out in front of her, it felt almost like a child’s game of keep away, except she was not blindfolded, and when she reached Alistair he was clearly not a child. With one hand on the offending article of armour, Ri traced her way to the edge. “Which ones?”

“Tops of the sides,” he gave a sigh of defeat. Still smiling to herself, Ri got to work following the lines of the breastplate to find the troublesome buckle beneath his left armpit. She deliberately pressed closer than was needed, her thighs touching his, still encased in steel, leather, and linen. Breathing in, she could smell him; a surprisingly pleasant odour; smoke from the fire mixed with supple leather and earthy undertones covering the day’s sweat. “You’re enjoying this,” he accused lightly, finally seeing the humour of the situation.

“A little,” she admitted, releasing the buckle. That seemed to be enough as the breastplate came apart; the front releasing the back and swinging open like a book. Alistair shrugged the whole thing off. Ri’s hands found his torso, still covered in a linen shirt not unlike her own. His chest was hard beneath it; broad and well muscled as a result of his templar training and his short time as a Warden. Ri couldn’t help but to mentally compare with Tamlen; the elf had been slimmer, toned, but perhaps not quite as muscular as the human. Everything about Alistair seemed bigger, a thought that caused a frisson of excitement to run through Ri as her imagination dipped downward. “Next?” she enquired.

“The base of my back,” he could reach that himself, Ri knew this, but he seemed to have accepted her involvement as she ducked under his arm and moved around. As she moved she tiptoed her fingers over his cloth-covered torso, never once breaking contact with him. The two buckles on his back keeping his leather and steel tassets in place were quick to undo, dropping the pleated and reinforced hip and thigh guards to the floor.

“Boots and legs next?” Ri surmised.

“Yeah, you might want to get back for those, there’s not a lot of room in these tents even when by oneself,” Alistair smirked.

“Be my guest,” Ri’s hand dropped, brushing intentionally over the gently curved back of his sturdy breeches before she moved away. Resuming her position, kneeling on her bedroll, Ri waited for an interminably long stretch of time, listening as Alistair sat and removed his cuisses, greaves, and boots, depositing each piece on what Ri assumed was by now a towering mountain of leather and metal, far removed from her neat pile of leather armour.

 

Finally, and a lot more quietly, Alistair was on his knees again, tentatively drawing closer in the dark. The two Grey Wardens wasted no time in resuming their affections. Hands found bodies as lips met, desperately seeking solace in one another’s form whilst also delighting in discovering new territory. Ri tugged insistently at Alistair’s shirt, encouraged by his willingness to break apart from her for a moment to pull the fabric over his head and toss it aside. She continued to explore the newly revealed terrain of his chest, his broad shoulders and relatively narrow waist, as his strong arms encircled her. Large hands met in the small of her back, then dropped downward to grasp at her buttocks, and she felt his gasp as he realised that there was nothing beneath the soft fabric of the shirt.

“I wish I could see you,” he murmured with soft longing.

“See with your hands,” Ri encouraged, dropping her own hands to the hem of her shirt and shaking free of him for a split second to pull the voluminous garment off. It was tossed toward the foot of the bed where her own armour was neatly stacked. Returning to Alistair, Ri pressed against him once more, her bared breasts pressing against the base of his ribcage as her hands fervently sought out the waistband of his trousers. “If you please?” she asked, even as she tugged the fabric down over the slight curve of his hips.

“As you wish,” Ri was suddenly devoid of the warmth that Alistair seemed to emanate as he retreated. She could hear the brushing sounds of fabric moving against fabric, the soft whispers of the revealing of skin. And then he was back, but at an arm’s length from her. Alistair gently reached out and took hold of her arms, keeping her from closing the gap between them.

“Everything alright?” Ri asked breathily.

“Just- just wonderful,” Alistair returned equally light of breath. “This is really happening.”

“This is really happening,” Ri confirmed. “If you want this to happen.”

“Oh I do, I do want,” he gasped. Ri felt a surge of relief overwhelm the longing that had filled her awareness. For the first time in days she wasn’t quite so lonely, so alone in this terrifying world of men and monsters. Alistair’s hold on her arms was released and she caught his hands in hers, holding them tightly for a moment, then placing one on her waist, and guiding the other to cup her breast. Alistair let out a low moan as they moved closer, until Ri felt the evidence of his arousal brush against her hip. Carefully she dropped her hands, skimming her finger tips down over his abs, and through the wiry curls of pubic hair until they found what she was seeking.

“Halani,” she whispered in surprise, glad he couldn’t see her shocked face in that moment. Tamlen’s cock had been, she had thought, quite ample enough, but in comparison Alistair far exceeded his predecessor in both length and girth. Alistair hissed, a sharp intake of breath as Ri ran her hands along his full length, investigating his manhood in intimate detail.

“Maker, Ri,” he uttered, his voice low and trembling. His hands gripped tightly to her for a moment, before he recovered. Gently he started to trace circles around her breast with his thumb, brushing ever closer to her proud nipple. The other hand was clutching at her buttock, the tips of his fingers curling round toward the top of her thigh. His hand travelled a little further round with each breath, pulling her hips forward until only his palm was on her bottom, his fingertips exploring the folds of her vulva. Ri let out an appreciative moan when the tip of one finger entered her, another rubbing past her clitoris as Alistair gently probed further. His actions prompted her to arch her back, lifting herself higher on her knees in a bid to part her legs further. This pushed her closer toward him, her hand on his cock, wrist pressed between their bellies, unable to do much more than to remain in place, her thumb rubbing the bases of his member as he reacted to her evident pleasure by speeding up his ministrations. His fingertips moved gently but deliberately, teasing her entrance, sending jolts of warm lightning through her every time he brushed over her clit; an action which seemed more accidental than intentional, but Ri was in no position to ask questions, not when the results were so blissfully distracting. Her thighs quivered as pleasure burned within her core. Ri’s hips started to move in time with his investigative touches, bucking as the sensation increased. His fingers dipped further into her folds, causing her breath to come in shorter gasps as her legs shook beneath her. Her orgasm rose quickly as she clutched at his shoulder with her free hand, pushing her pelvis into his hands to increase the pressure he was imparting. Ri moaned again, then pressed her face into Alistair’s chest to try to keep from drawing any attention from the rest of the camp. She held still, her inner muscles clenching desperately around his fingers as she rode the waves of ecstasy. After a moment Ri sagged backwards, the movement drawing Alistair’s hand away from the sensitive nub.

“I want you,” she breathed, beseeching eyes staring through the darkness toward where she knew Alistair to be. “I need you,” She wrapped one hand around his swollen member, then moved her fingers deftly up and over the head, then back down its full length.

“Ri, any more of that and I won’t last,” Alistair admitted through gritted teeth. Ri released her hand, shuffling backward as she changed position, carefully swinging her legs round from beneath her until she was sitting in the bed. She lowered herself backward until her head touched the thin pillow. Once there her hand sought out her throbbing clit, adding to her own pleasure as she waited for Alistair to join her. Her vulva was slick with her arousal and she suddenly felt like she had been returned to those early years of womanhood when she had sought her pleasure from a number of the other elves in her clan, desperate to find someone who fulfilled her needs.

“Are you - is there any risk of-” he started and stopped, Ri could hear the embarrassment in his voice and gave a smile.

“It’s covered,” she returned, her words giving Alistair the permission he needed to gingerly climb over her leg, positioning himself between her thighs. Ri let her fingers trail through her loose thatch of hair and up over her belly, brushing past the patch of skin where she knew an intricate tattoo would be visible had there been any light in the tent. A stylised rose encircled by thorns, it had been put there by Keeper Marethari, before she had become Keeper; when she had only been the previous Keeper’s first. The tattoo would protect against unwanted consequences until the last petal faded from blood red to a dark rust brown. It was simply impractical to have so many children racing around the camp, and Ri, like many young Dalish women had been happy to put her natural cycle on hold for a few years, to be able to have some fun without having to worry about keeping track of the lunar calendar.

Alistair lent over Ri, his lips pressed first against her stomach as he found his way in the darkness. Ri grinned unashamedly as she lifted her hands to find his head, lacing her fingers through his hair as she guided his tender kisses up her body. Alistair worked patiently, kissing his way up her sternum, through the valley between her breasts. Here he detoured, leaving a trail of kisses up the small, soft flesh of her right breast. He took particular care in encircling Ri’s areola with kisses before taking her whole nipple into his mouth, brushing the tip with his tongue. Ri shivered beneath him, her entire body on edge; filled with the nervous energy of her anticipation.

“Are you sure?” Alistair asked. Releasing his head, Ri ran her hands along his broad shoulders, tugging him toward her impatiently.

“My watch starts soon,” she moaned softly, running her hand down his ribcage to emphasise her consent. Alistair crawled further up the bedroll until his head was in line with Ri’s, his hastened trail of kisses moving up her neck and jawline. Ri’s hands fell between them, one reaching almost desperately for his hard cock, the other toying with her clitoris. She was almost in agony, aching to be filled. Alistair lowered his hips, allowing Ri to guide him. “Slowly,” she insisted, as his bulging head parted her labia. “Wait, wait, no,” she panted. Alistair withdrew immediately, unable to suppress a groan.

“What happened? Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice filled with concern as much as with the need to continue.

“Swap places,” Ri ordered, desperation driving her as she slipped out from beneath the human. “You’re too big, I need to- just lie down,” she didn’t have the capacity to explain, as she felt her fellow Warden catching her intention and struggling to comply. As soon as his back hit the bedroll, Ri climbed astride Alistair, her knees tucked in tightly either side of his hips. With a sense of urgency, Ri reached down and found Alistair’s hands, bringing them up to find her breasts as she leant forward. “Ready?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” came the barely whispered reply. Ri dropped her hand between her thighs and gently guided herself down.

Alistair gasped as he entered her, just as Ri let out a low mewling sound. He felt so much larger than Tamlen, almost uncomfortably so. The sensation of being full increased as Ri lowered herself a little further. Alistair’s hands grasped at her breasts as if they were all that were keeping him from pulling her onto him. Ri pressed the flat of her hands against his hips, holding still for a moment. Experimentally she rolled her own hips, slowly pulling away from him, then easing back down onto him.

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair gasped. Ri silenced him with a kiss as she tentatively pushed herself further on to him, before returning to an upright position. She reached for his waist, holding tight as she lowered herself fully onto his impressive length. Alistair groaned in the darkness, as Ri lifted herself up, then pressed home again, starting to move to a tentative rhythm. One of Alistair’s hands found hers, and she gently moved it to her clit, encouraging him to resume his attention there as she steadily rose and fell, her voice lost to the overwhelming sensation. Alistair’s other hand dropped from her breast to her waist, travelling with her as she controlled their pace, his own hips rising to meet hers. Ri let out a low moan as she gave in to her carnal needs, her every movement sending a jolt of pleasure radiating outward from her core.

They moved in sync, their hips rolling them apart and then crashing together, their breaths ragged with desire and exertion. Alistair pressed his thumb a little firmer against her clit, the action causing Ri to buck her hips in delight, slipping out of rhythm for a moment. He repeated the motion, as he thrust upward into her, hips and thumb working together until she could stand it no longer. Ri could feel her muscles tensing as the pressure continued to build up between her legs. She ceased her movement, falling forward over Alistair’s chest as he thrust into her again and again. Then up again as her back arched in pleasure. Her hands were clutching desperately at her hair, her breasts, her fingers gripping tightly, spurred on by the rising ecstasy.

“Oh, oh!” Ri clasped one hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her cries, unable to keep completely silent as she drew closer and closer to climax. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling a knot of pressure swell within her, eventually bursting. Alistair groaned beneath her as her vagina clenched around him. The sensation was hard to resist as, after a moment, he followed suit, his cock pulsing in earnest. Ri opened her eyes once more, returning Alistair’s tender kisses as she lay sprawled atop him, his cock already softening within her.

“Was that alright?” Alistair asked, youthful uncertainty showing through his words.

“That wasn’t too bad,” she returned teasingly. “We might need to give it another go before I can give my full appraisal.”

“How about you let Morrigan and Mustela handle watch and you stay here a while?” the suggestion was tempting, but Ri knew better than to take him up on the offer.

“Not tonight,” she said sadly. “Not whilst we have a sort of hostage thing going on with Sten, and we’re still too far south to really take it easy. Maybe if your arl gives us proper beds in Redcliffe.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Alistair barely protested as Ri crawled away from him and toward her kit at the foot of the bed. Her simple leather armour was much easier to don than his metal affair, and so she was dressed and ready to leave within scant moments.

“Sleep well,” she offered the already half-slumbering man, before ducking out of the tent, her knees a little unsteady as she walked away.

 

Unable to shake the slightly giddy feeling, Ri crossed the campsite to find Morrigan already sat serenely by the fire. The witch looked up at her approach and raised one eyebrow.

“I suppose you think that’s a good idea?” she asked coolly.

“That?” Ri replied, too happy to care for winning Morrigan’s approval.

“Now she plays coy. An entanglement like that, with one such as him. It is unlikely to end well.” Ri laughed; clearly the campsite was a lot less private than she had hoped.

“It’s just sex,” she shrugged, meeting Morrigan’s unwavering gaze and refusing to be embarrassed by the witch.

“If you say so,” came the dry response. Ri gave a small smile, unwilling to let her mood be turned. She took a seat by the fire, using the low crackling light to inspect the heads and fletchings of her arrows, a sharp flake of flint in her hand as she set about fixing any broken feathers or chipped arrowheads. “Is he your first human lover?” Morrigan continued, apparently set on some sort of debrief.

“You really want to do this?” Ri asked, giving an exaggerated sigh.

“Somebody ought to,” Morrigan shot back.

“Yes, my first human, no not my first ever,” Ri admitted freely. “What of it?”

“There are two extremes in the world of human men; those who would happily bed you and leave it at that, and men whose hearts reside beneath their smallclothes. Do you truly think Alistair is the former?”

“He knows this is nothing,” Ri protested, a shadow of doubt rising in her mind..

“Perhaps we shall see in the morning,” the witch mused coolly.

“You know a lot about human men and their desires?” For a split second Ri lamented that Leliana was asleep for this conversation. She would have been interested to see what the chantry sister thought of such talk.

“I know enough,” Morrigan stared into the fire, seemingly wanting to say more but holding back.

“I can’t imagine bringing anyone back to your home,” Ri laughed lightly. “Whatever did Flemeth say?” Morrigan’s head shot up and she fixed Ri with a long, intense glare.

“You Dalish really do know nothing of the world,” Morrigan’s voice was low; accusing but not cruelly so.

“So I am constantly reminded,” Ri retorted flatly. “Do you care to elaborate on that, or shall I sit and stew in my ignorance?”

“It is a well established rumour that the witches of the wild steal men,” Morrigan spoke carefully, thinking her words through before she spoke them aloud. “Like most rumours this is based fairly heavily in truth. I assume you grew up listening to your clan elders telling you tales about the glory of the Elvhen before the humans came and took away your liberties. My mother was telling me stories of her own youth, stories that chilled my blood and have haunted my dreams ever since. Stories of the Wilder men Flemeth took to her bed. She would use them until they were spent and then kill them. I slept in the attic, listening to the grunts and groans. It is strange, the similarities in the noises men make in the heights of pleasure, and at the moment of death.” Ri remained silent, still, unsure of what she could say in response to this matter of fact delivery. “I don’t suppose your mother sat you down, the day after your monthly bleeds began, and told you that one day you would be expected to do as she does.”

“And did you?” Ri asked, not knowing what else to say. Morrigan didn’t seem the type to be accepting of sympathy.

“It is not a simple thing to refuse Flemeth,” was the noncommittal response.


	15. Roads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song by Kawala

Dawn neared and Ri sat beside the fire stirring a pot of water and dried oats into a basic porridge. A platter of fresh berries sat beside her whilst Morrigan retrieved a pile of basic fired clay bowls from the wagon. Sten was first to rise, hardly surprising as he had been permitted a full night’s sleep whereas the others had all sat watch shifts.

“Good morning,” Ri offered. “Breakfast won’t be long, then we’ll get under way.”

“Shall I be permitted to carry arms today?” the Qunari replied, his voice flatly unimpressed.

“I don’t know that we have any weapons to spare. What do you favour?”

“Sword,” came the simple reply.

“Alistair uses our only sword. If the need arises you can use my knives,” Ri offered reluctantly. “They’ll be too small for you, and are pretty much all I have from home, so I’ll have them back when we get you properly armed.”

“Good morning,” Leliana’s voice joined them, surprising Ri at how relieved she felt at not being alone with the Qunari. Mustela was surely in earshot, and Ri supposed she ought to be comforted by the fact the war hound didn’t feel the need to protect her from their newest travelling companion.

“Breakfast’s nearly ready,” Ri smiled, looking over to the wagon and seeing Morrigan and Alistair in quiet conversation. “Just waiting on the bowls,” she finished, her voice quieter as she took in the slight frown on Alistair’s face. Morrigan was looking away from her, her face not visible. Ri forced herself to look away from the pair, her eyes on the pot as she stirred it. The oats had thickened up and would start sticking soon, so she lifted the pot from the fire, continuing to stir as she awaited the pots. Her eyes flicked back toward the wagon and saw a clearly irritated Alistair stomping toward the fire, followed by Morrigan, a serene smile on her lips.

“Morning,” Ri called out, biting back anything further. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what Morrigan had said to him, especially in front of the others. Alistair met her eyes, giving a halfhearted smile.

“Morning,” he returned, rounding the fire and picking a spot next to her to stand, warming his hands against the morning’s chill. He was in his armour, but for his gauntlets, which hung at his side.

“Good sleep?” she asked, attempting light tones.

“Best I’ve had in a while,” he replied, his mouth curling into a smile. “Breakfast looks good.”

 

“We should get to know one another,” Leliana’s chipper suggestion came after only a few minutes of travel. Ri looked to the woman, then around to her companions. Alistair met her glance with a smile, whilst she caught Morrigan rolling her eyes. Sten remained stony faced, causing Ri to wonder if he had even heard Leliana’s suggestion. “Where did everyone grow up? I would love to learn more of Ferelden and what better way than through talking to her people? I may have been born in Orlais, but my mother was Fereldan, and I consider myself to have claim to the title, should I remain here long enough to earn it. My childhood was spent between the Waking Sea and Val Royeaux. I arrived in Ferelden several years ago and have been at the Chantry in Lothering for the past few years.” The Chantry sister paused for a moment, looking round expectantly. Ri busied herself scanning the road ahead. “Alistair? However did you come to join the monastery? Were your parents servants of the Maker?” the accented voice was so sweet there was no way the Warden could refuse.

“Oh, uh,” Alistair started uncertainly. Ri turned toward him, raising her eyebrows quickly, encouraging him to answer Leliana’s question. “It was the monastery or stay a stableboy forever,” he gave half-heartedly. “I guess I was raised to follow His teachings, but I never really thought of the Maker until I started at the monastery.”

“Morrigan, do you believe in the Maker?” Leliana pressed.

“Do I believe in the Maker?” Morrigan repeated drily. “Do I believe in some all-knowing moralistic absentee father-figure? No. Nor do I fear things that go bump in the night.”

“You can’t possibly think all this is just happening by chance,” Leliana threw her hands in the air, gesturing at the world around them. “Your magic, spirits, the ever shifting balance of lightness and dark. It must have come from somewhere.”

“It comes from nature, just as do lightness and darkness. There is no controlling chaos, there is only living amongst it or in spite of it,” the witch gave a low sigh. “I grow bored of this,” she announced to the rest of the group. “Wake me when she’s run out of puff.” A cloud of grey-purple smoke formed around Morrigan, quickly clearing to reveal the woman disappeared and in her place stood a lean grey wolf with Morrigan’s yellow-gold eyes. The wolf leapt neatly into the back of the wagon where she promptly curled into a ball atop a pile of tarpaulins and went to sleep.

“Your turn,” Ri started as Alistair’s voice sounded from close behind her. “Don’t think you’re getting away with staying quiet on this one.” He fell into step beside her, close enough to touch if Ri got the urge to reach out to him.

“Oh, do tell,” Leliana chimed in. “You are Dalish, are you not? I long to learn about your people. Such a fascinating history.” Ri bristled, uncomfortable with the idea of giving information on the Dalish to an outsider, particularly a human one.

“It was not so different from what we’re doing now;” Ri shrugged. “We travelled, we made camp, we hunted and made things. We just didn’t have such attachments to physical locations as you humans do.”

“Whyever did you leave?” Leliana pushed.

“The Warden-Commander came, he needed people to fight the Blight. The Dalish have never refused the Grey Wardens,” Ri gave an incredibly abridged version of the truth, not wanting to delve back into the details of her departure, or her loss.

“So it was recent that you were recruited? The Blight is still in its early stages, is it not?” Ri could hear the confusion in Leliana’s voice. Beneath the confusion there seemed to be something else, some deeper purpose for the seemingly nonchalant questions. Curious, she turned to look at the Orlesian woman.

“It was recent, yes,” she confirmed.

“I just thought -” Leliana gave a light laugh, “You seem like you have been a Warden for some time.” Such a simple question, yet to answer it felt unnatural to Ri. Her entire youth ad been spent learning about the necessity for secrecy.

“No,” Ri started to put together a further explanation, then thought better of it. Her lack of longevity was something that could be held against her, especially if she went on to explain that she had been unconscious for half of her time as a Warden so far. “Fresh blood, as it were,” she finished with a forced air of nonchalance.

“Did you know Alistair before?” Leliana continued, seemingly unfazed by their reluctance to answer her questions in as much detail as she had given. Ri narrowed her eyes at the loaded question. Evidently tent walls were thin and their nighttime activity had been witnessed. The thought of others knowing her business sent a cold chill down Ri’s spine.

“No,” she moved sideways, putting a little distance between herself and her fellow Warden. Her learnings about humans growing up had not been the most extensive, but she had been told that humans tended to pair up for life and she suddenly felt a degree of concern that Alistair might be expecting more of their dalliance than she intended. “No, we’re only recently acquainted. Practically strangers.”

“I don’t know about that,” Alistair frowned, his indignant voice giving Ri cause to regret her words.

“You seem to be close, for strangers,” Leliana pressed.

“Given how the past week has gone down I wouldn’t say we’re strangers,” Alistair protested, reaching a hand out and finding Ri further away from him than she had been.

“Sometimes that’s all it takes,” Leliana mused. “A little spark and you feel like you’ve known someone for a lifetime when in fact it has only been a few days. And nights. Like the fairy stories of old.”

“This is what happens when women go to war,” Sten announced, his booming voice startling Ri as she turned her head to await his latest pearl of Qunari wisdom. “Messy wandering conversations about nothing at all. You should put a stop to this, Grey Warden,” he spoke to Alistair. “Bed the huntress if you must, but do tell the priestess not to go on about it. An entire Blight of women speaking in circles will addle your mind and steal your focus.” Ri scowled at the forthright Qunari, turning to Alistair for his response and finding him red-faced and staring at the floor.

“I’m going to go find food,” she announced, her skin prickling in something between annoyance and embarrassment. She barely hesitated to check her quiver was full before hastily veering off road and into the forest. “Stop at the next appropriate place and we can cook up some meat. Better to do it in the daytime when the bears are more wary.”

 

Alistair’s heavy footfalls followed Ri off the road. A dangerous smile on her face, the elvhen huntress leapt nimbly atop a fallen tree, her leather-clad feet balancing on the narrow trunk with almost feline ease. Disappearing into the leafy branches, she slipped back to the ground and darted off along a deer trail.

“Ri!” the Warden’s voice split the peaceful forest, his crashing strides causing her to wince as she heard the panicked flapping of wings, the softer footfalls of deer and rabbits rushing to safety. The ground fell away gently to the north so Ri started in that direction, every fibre of her being wanted to run, to make believe she was home and this was just a normal hunting excursion. The crashing and grumbling of the Warden following her put an immediate stop to her fantasy. It took a little effort, but gradually her pace slowed and she started intentionally stepping on sticks to give away her location. Even with the lack of stealth, it took the armoured warrior a minute to catch up, and when he did appear alongside her there was a sprig of rowan caught in the armour over his shoulders.

“You look ridiculous,” Ri commented as he drew closer. With an easy familiarity that directly contrasted her words on the road, she reached up and tugged at the foliage.

“Are you angry with me?” came the downtrodden response. “We’re not strangers, are we?”

“Well, we don’t really know each other,” Ri shrugged. “But no, I guess strangers wasn’t the right word. I just didn’t need Leliana prying into something when it’s nothing to do with her.” Turning on her heel, Ri started walking through the open pine forest, her bow in hand as she continued the pretence of looking for food. She kept her pace slowed and stuck to an easy path so Alistair could keep up.

“I don’t think she meant anything by it,” Alistair frowned. Ri kept quiet, she could feel an irrational temper building within her, yet couldn’t put her finger on what was causing it. A tiny part of her feared that the longer she remained silent the harder it would be to fix whatever was breaking between her and her erstwhile lover, whereas opposing thoughts in her head pointed out that perhaps that was for the best. She didn’t know what to do, she realised.

“Would you stop walking for a moment? Please?” Alistair begged, his metal-clad hand clutching at her arm. Ri pulled away easily, silently daring him to give up, to walk away. It would be easier if they both let it drop. “Ri? Did I do something wrong? Was last night- was it not what you wanted?”

“I don’t know what I want,” Ri erupted, turning on the spot and planting her feet firmly on the ground, her hands folded tightly across her chest. “Last night was great. You’re great. But this is still so new. Fuck, it took Tamlen years to go from my hunting buddy to- to something more. Another year after that before I even started to consider him as my partner. He asked me to commit to him, we were going to talk to the Keeper about a hand-fasting ceremony and still I was looking to the future and wanting to move on, to find my own path. Last night was great, it was something I would be quite open to doing again, but you and I - we’re Wardens, but what else do we have in common? We’re just people still getting to know one another. I only met you a week ago, all I really know is that we’re the last Wardens in Ferelden. We’re not in one of Leliana’s fairy stories where it’s love at first sight and we’re together forever. We’re alone and scared and-” she trailed off, her emotional tirade running out of steam.

“Alright,” Alistair spoke slowly. “What do you want to know?”

“What?”

“About me? I’d at least like us to be friends,” As he spoke, Alistair removed the helmet from his head, somehow making his eyes seem larger and more beseeching.

“I don’t know,” Ri sighed, unable to keep fighting against the human’s earnestness. “It’s not specific things, I want to know who you are as a person, what you value, what drives you. It takes a while to learn a place or a person; it takes actions and decisions and things that can’t just be learned from a peppy question and answer session.”

“Come with me,” Alistair offered, looking a little defeated. He walked past Ri, making no move to reach out for her, and instead following the path she had been making down the hill. Ri followed, her eyes on the back of Alistair’s head as if she could work him out simply by the power of her own will.

 

Ri heard the gently lapping waves of the lake before Alistair pushed through the overgrowth to reveal the muddy shoreline and the large expanse of slate grey water.

“This is Lake Calenhad,” Alistair spoke softly, looking at the water rather than Ri. “Redcliffe is over there,” he gestured along the shore to the west, but the city was still too far to be seen, and the shoreline was uneven and overgrown. “I grew up with so much freedom. I had the run of the arl’s castle, and whenever I could I would escape and run down to the docks and watch the ships coming and going. Then Eamon brought Isolde back and they married and I was put to work in the stables. She thought he coddled me. Worse, she thought I was his son. His bastard. Redcliffe was my home, but because of a few rumours the man I looked to as a father figure was persuaded that I shouldn’t be there. I was sent away to the monastery, to the cold halls and silent prayers. I haven’t been back to Redcliffe for half my life. I haven’t seen Eamon for years. Last time he visited me at the monastery… We had words. I was angry, so angry, and he - he told me something I didn’t want to hear and didn’t know what to do with.” Ri watched the side of the young Warden’s face as he spoke, his eyes on the horizon as if he could see Redcliffe before him. “I’m a little bit terrified of seeing him again, of trying to start again after what I said. But more than that I’m terrified of what he might say, of what he knows. I should have told you before, I guess, but we’ve not really had the chance to talk in private,” he sighed. “Arl Eamon, in the monastery, he told me of my parentage. Did I tell you my mother was a serving girl? She worked at the castle. Normally the arl would steer very well clear of the affairs of the common folk. Why would Eamon have cared for a regular run of the mill bastard? He wouldn’t. Not to the degree he seemed to care for me. It’s just not how human nobility works - we don’t have clans, we don’t all pitch in and work together. It’s elitism and money and lands and holding on to as much as we can whilst trying to curry favour with those above us in the social hierarchy. You see, my father, for want of a better term, was Maric Theirin. King Maric. Former father of former King Cailan, who I suppose was my half-brother, not that we ever exchanged more than a glance before that morning at Ostagar,” he trailed off, heaving another sigh. It was as if he had run out of words, Ri thought as she let the weight of Alistair’s revelation settle in the still air.

“That is possibly the last thing I thought you would say,” Ri breathed out, searching for the right words and coming up with nothing.

“It’s ridiculous, and it doesn’t mean anything, but it’s been the bane of my life since then. It’s why Eamon kept me at Redcliffe as a baby, even despite the risk to his reputation. It’s why he put me in the monastery rather than the army, or out working the lands. It’s why Duncan recruited me, I’m sure of it. And it’s why he and Cailan wouldn’t let me do anything back at Ostagar,” Ri was watching Alistair, her mouth slightly open as she processed this new information, this rising level of frustration and resentment that didn’t seem to have any particular target.

“I don’t think it means nothing,” she ventured. “You’re a royal bastard-” as soon as the words had left her mouth Ri realised they were the wrong ones.

“Ha! I guess I am. I should probably get that printed on a badge,” the desperate humour didn’t quite scan, and Alistair wasn’t smiling. Instead he took another step toward the lake’s edge, still refusing to look back. “I’d rather no one knew. Although I think Morrigan does. Maker only knows how Flemeth picked up that little tidbit, but it’s out there. I’m half afraid Eamon might say something crazy.”

“Something about you being the rightful heir to the throne?” Ri suggested softly.

“Yes, something along those lines. It’s madness. I am a commoner, I am a Grey Warden. I am in no way in line for the throne.”

“So who is? If the country is on the brink of civil war then I’d like to know who the players are,” Ri sank to the dry earthy ground, taking a seat and crossing her legs. All thoughts of hunting were gone from her head.

“Eamon’s best for the job. He was Cailan’s uncle, the people love him, he knows how to rule. Last I heard he had a son, so that’s an heir to be next in line. Although the rumours before the battle were that he hadn’t come to Ostagar because he has some dire malady. I hope that’s not the case.”

“What claim does Teryn Loghain have?” Ri pressed on, concern rising within her as she took in the wider picture Alistair seemed determined to ignore.

“He’s the teyrn of Gwaren - he and Teyrn Bryce Cousland of Highever are both second only to the King, of which we have none right now. Also Loghain’s daughter, Anora, is married to Cailan. Was - was married to Cailan. In theory Loghain could keep Anora on as queen and he could rule through her.”

“And that would be bad because he’s a treasonous murderer,” she concluded drily.

“You got it,” Alistair finally turned away from the water, looking utterly helpless as he met Ri’s eyes. “We need to get to Arl Eamon, he’ll know what to do.”

“Yes, my prince,” Ri purred, a broad smirk on her lips. She hadn’t known what to expect, going in to this conversation, and where they had ended up was so far from predictable it felt like the contents of a fever dream. As much as she still feared allowing herself to get close to the human, she couldn’t very well push him away now. Not before she had had a chance to process what she now knew about him.

“Well that made me feel something weird,” Alistair confessed, the frown on his face beginning to lighten.

“Come on then, your Highness. We need to find food,” Ri pushed herself back to her feet and ran her hands quickly down the back of her thighs to brush off the dirt.

“I already regret telling you,” Alistair laughed, not quite his usual joyous laugh but getting there. He fell into step beside her as they made their way back up the bank and into the woods. “I’d like to take watch with you tonight,” he spoke softly, his words causing Ri a quick burst of irritation as she was trying to scan the undergrowth for prey, but also spreading an uncontrollable burst of warmth through her at the confirmation of his interest.

“What, no long-standing evening plans with Leliana?” she returned with a smirk. “I shall have to break off my burgeoning friendship with Morrigan, but I suppose I could be persuaded. What were the two of you talking about this morning? What did she have to say about your whole,” Ri shrugged, holding out her hands palm up, unsure how to refer to Alistair’s royal heritage.

“Oh, she was going on about duty and following in a parent’s footsteps. She made it very clear she knew, and asked whether I had told you.”

“Why would Morrigan care about the Ferelden monarchy? Flemeth’s influence, I suppose,” Ri puzzled it over for a little while, then dropped it in favour of resuming her hunt for food. “Do you want to get back to the others?”

“Do you want me to get back to the others?” Alistair asked, a hurt expression on his face.

“Well no,” Ri admitted, “but also yes. You’re so bloody loud in that armour you’re scaring away all the animals.”

“Oh,” Alistair sighed. “I guess I could head back, make sure Morrigan hasn’t strangled Leliana.”

“And Sten’s not gone murdering more farmhands,” Ri added drily.

“Before I go, could I - would it be alright with you if I kissed you?” The request was so unexpectedly sweet Ri had to bite back a laugh.

“You can,” she agreed cautiously, “on one condition. Promise me this Eamon will sort everything out and there’s no risk of your becoming king.”

“You don’t ask for much,” Alistair grinned as he drew closer to her, his voice soft and tender. “On that front you have nothing to fear. There is no way I will become king. No one wants that, I definitely don’t want that. I will be a Grey Warden for the rest of my days, doing whatever you want me to do.” Ri cocked her head to one side as if considering his words.

“Very well,” she decreed. “You may kiss me.” Alistair stepped toward her, ducking his head as she rose onto the balls of her feet, each making up for the difference in their height. Their lips met tentatively, Ri’s hands automatically found their place against his armoured chest whilst Alistair’s gloved hands encircled her waist. Ri closed her eyes, losing herself in the moment of intimacy as she pressed close to the sturdy human, her lips moving against his with a barely restrained passion. It took every ounce of her willpower to break away, pushing herself back from him with a broad grin on her face. “Go,” she insisted. “Otherwise we’ll lose travelling time.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Alistair said reluctantly, his voice laden with wanting.

 

Ri stood still for a long time, watching Alistair’s back as he climbed up the gentle hill, looking back twice before disappearing into the undergrowth and the shadows of the fir trees. She remained still, drenched in emotions she hadn’t expected to feel. Her misgivings about encouraging any sort of romantic relationship with Alistair were more numerous than ever, but simultaneously she now knew she couldn’t deny the fact that she longed for him with every fibre of her being. She wanted to sit beside him in front of the camp fire, she wanted to know him, both factually and physically. It wasn’t just a need to be fulfilled, a need to be touched, it was undeniably something much more than that. Ri stifled a groan at how doomed she was, and instead forcibly cleared her mind and dragged herself back to the matter of finding food. She remained still, relishing the solitude as she waited for the hidden creatures around her to decide the threat had passed. The birds started singing; delicate notes of songbirds likely too small to consider for the pot, the rustling of leaves too light to be anything more substantial than a mouse or small rat. Ri slowly, silently, took hold of her bow, taking one arrow from her quiver so as to be ready. She started to walk through the forest, her eyes darting side to side in search of movement, whilst also ensuring her feet avoided any fallen twigs that might crack under her weight.

Ri’s path took her along the bank of the lake until she found a flock of generously sized waterfowl. She managed to kill four of them before the rest scattered. Satisfied, Ri gathered the birds, replaced the arrows in her quiver, and started cheerfully making her way back toward the road. As she walked her head was filled with the thoughts she had managed to ignore when focused on the hunt. Alistair had seemed so dismissive of his royal blood, as if it wasn’t a big deal, but Ri was growing less and less sure of that. It certainly sounded as if he were the rightful heir to the throne. His only hope for avoiding that rested in the lap of the very man who had revealed his heritage. If this Eamon had any wish to claim the throne then surely he would have let the secret of Alistair’s parents die with Maric. She scowled to herself, hefting the large birds to get a better grip on their scaly legs. They had a day or so, then they would get to Redcliffe and they could work out what Eamon was going to do about the whole monarchy situation, and what help he could be against the Blight. Then she and Alistair would be free to follow up on their Warden treaties without this unexpected threat of a throne. If a civil war was brewing then someone else could fight it - they were Grey Wardens, they were outside of politics.

 

As the trees cleared and Ri climbed across the ditch, returning to the main road she felt it; the shadowy tightening across her chest, the buzzy lightning sensation in her forehead. Holding tight to the birds, Ri picked up the pace, running along the road toward a growing sensation of something awful. There were darkspawn to the south, that much she knew almost immediately. As she ran she focused on the foreboding darkspawn sense, trying to feel for how many there were, or even how close, but the sense was still new, still alien to her. And then suddenly it didn’t matter anymore. The darkspawn crashed through the forest and onto the road just as she passed in front of them. A quick glance to the left told Ri there were six of them, mostly genlock, but for the one large hurlock bellowing at the smaller beasts. The overpowering odour of death transported Ri for a moment back to the top of the Tower of Ishal and to the pain and exhaustion she had felt when last she had faced the demon creatures. Spurred on by fear she ran faster, desperate to reach sanctuary.

It seemed an eternity before Ri spotted the open-backed wagon. Moments later Mustela appeared from behind it, giving a happy bark and bringing Leliana and Sten to the side of the road.

“Darkspawn!” Ri shouted as she drew close enough to be heard. Judging by the alarm on her companions’ faces her words hadn’t been needed. Morrigan appeared, resuming her human form and grasping her staff, a grim expression on her face. Ri dropped the four birds at the back of the wagon before clambering in, finally turning to face the onslaught.

“You brought them here?” Leliana questioned.

“It wasn’t exactly by choice,” Ri returned, yanking the two curved elvhen blades from her belt and passing them to Sten. The weapons looked tiny in the large warrior’s hands, not that he seemed to mind too much as he tested each one for its weight. “Where’s Alistair?” Ri noticed her fellow Warden’s absence as she loosed her first arrow into the oncoming hoarde. Mustela, Sten and Leliana moved forward to meet them as Morrigan lifted her staff, calling forth a rain of fireballs. “Where is he?” Ri repeated, a stab of fear gripping her.

“He followed you into the forest,” the witch said casually, as if they were not facing a small army of darkspawn. “We assumed you were either fighting or making up,” the lascivious double meaning of Morrigan’s words were not lost on Ri as she shot another arrow, felling a burning genlock.

“We parted ways. I went hunting and he was heading this way.”

“He has not arrived,” Ri glared at Morrigan, then turned her irritation on another genlock, keeping care to aim her arrows around the melee fighters. The genlocks were swiftly dispatched, their corpses strewn across the road’s surface. Climbing down from the wagon, Ri looked around, a growing sense of worry clouding her thoughts.

“We need to find Alistair,” she insisted, as Sten started to pull genlock bodies to the other side of the road.

The relative silence was broken after a moment by a clanging crashing noise, and a loud, panicked voice.

“Darkspawn!” Alistair yelled as he emerged from the forest.

“We know,” Ri returned, waving her hand at the swiftly disappearing corpses.

“Behind me,” he had reached them now, moving past Mustela to get to Ri. “Can’t you feel them?” Ri frowned, realising that her chest was still tight, and her head still thrumming.

“Shit,” she grimaced. “How many?”

“A dozen? Maybe a little more.”

“More?” Leliana asked, ashen-faced, reminding Ri that the Chantry sister had never faced darkspawn before.

“They’re moving so fast,” Ri frowned, hearing the first of the darkspawn start to trample through the nearby brush. She spun on her foot and climbed back into the wagon, setting her feet wide apart to keep herself steady.

The first genlock hurtled out of the forest, closely followed by eight or nine of its brethren. Behind them strode four hurlocks, the monstrous giants spurring on the smaller genlocks. Ri sucked in a deep breath, raising her bow once more, feeling a great deal of anxiety at the temporary loss of her knives. She started to unload arrows into the band of hurlocks at the back, slowing them down a little and buying her companions some time to work through the less brutal genlocks. As she shot arrow after arrow, Ri kept an eye on her companions, her heart in her mouth as Alistair took the fight to the genlocks, barrelling forward in his plate armour, sword and shield held high. Leliana and Sten flanked him, with Mustela alongside the Chantry sister.

Ri shot arrow after arrow at the hurlocks, as Morrigan shot bolts of magic fire in the same direction. Alistair led the charge into the group of genlocks, using his shield to push the smaller demons back before laying into them with his sword. Leliana seemed to glide around with all the finesse of a dancer as she moved between the snarling creatures. With a technique somewhere between the brutal warrior and the dainty rogue, Sten was doing a surprising amount of damage with the two small blades, elbowing his way through the genlocks and stabbing with a terrifying precision to the throats and armpits of the monsters, incapacitating them with ease and letting them drop to the floor where they were immediately set upon by Mustela.

A couple of genlocks broke through the front ranks, limping angrily toward the wagon as Ri shot a final arrow into a falling hurlock. Her attention was drawn to the nearest lurching genlock as it scrabbled at the side of the wagon.

“Fenedhis lasa,” Ri cursed angrily, loosing an arrow into the creature at short range, then kicking her foot at its grasping hands as it attempted to mount the vehicle. The pony shrieked from her tether point at the edge of the woods, drawing the genlock’s attention long enough for Ri to fill the gaps in its helmet with enough arrows to fell it. She turned back to the skirmish to find Morrigan had disappeared, and her giant spider form was sinking its fangs into a wounded genlock. Ri had a moment longer to survey the battlefield, picking her target, and she found Leliana being pushed back by the remaining hurlock, with two genlocks before it. Lifting her bow once more, Ri shot a volley into the cluster of enemies, tearing their attention from the priestess for long enough that she could stab at them with her sword. She scanned the battlefield, loosing arrows whenever she had clear sight of the enemy. Sten was still holding his own, but Alistair was pinned between two genlocks, so Ri shot one in the side of the head, dropping it instantly to the floor.

As the final genlock attempted to flee, both Ri and the newly human again Morrigan shot at it, taking it down for Mustela to finish off, leaving the collection of humans, elf and Qunari standing in silence, but for their own heavy breathing and the savage growls of the warhound.

“We need to get moving,” Ri spoke up, having climbed once more from the wagon. “They’re hungry and directionless - we can’t camp out again, not when they’re this close.”

“We could make it to Redcliffe by tomorrow morning if we travel through the night. Shift sleeping in the wagon?” Alistair added his support without hesitation.

“That’s probably best,” Ri gave a smile.

“We shall need a Grey Warden awake at all times,” Morrigan declared, meeting Ri’s eyes with a challenging glare. “'Tis the only way to be sure to avoid any darkspawn ambush.” Ri turned away from the pointed gaze and rolled her eyes as she started retrieving her spent arrows. For a split second she desperately wanted to make some snide comment about how she and Alistair were hardly likely to start going at it in the wagon as they travelled, but she held her tongue.

“Let’s get a move on then,” she ordered. Sten and Alistair snapped to action, removing the second round of darkspawn bodies from the road and tipping them into the ditch. Ri recovered the wildfowl from beneath the wagon whilst Leliana calmed the anxious pony before hitching her to the wagon. Ri gave a silent thanks to the elvhen gods that at least the other members of her party were on her side. She could cope with Morrigan’s antisocial ways as long as everyone else stayed in line.


	16. What Kind of Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song by Florence + the Machine

Travelling at night was not Ri’s favourite thing. Even with her superior elvhen eyesight, and the balls of firelight that Morrigan had created and ensorcelled to float in the air ahead of the wagon, it was just too unnerving to be unable to see where she was putting her feet, or where the road ahead went.

Ri’s turn to sleep came and she clambered into the makeshift bed on the floor of the wagon, as Morrigan assumed her wolf form and curled up the other end. Mustela leapt up and took her place stretched out against Ri’s back. Between the rocking of the wagon and the immediate horror of the darkspawn dreams, Ri didn’t sleep well, waking often, only to find the mabari nuzzling her side, or even once giving a gentle lick to her arm. Alistair woke her when it was his time to bed down, with Leliana tucked neatly alongside him. Her head was the opposite end to his, but still Ri was surprised at the jolt of jealousy that rose within her. Rationally she knew that she was struggling with this new world and with being so far from the only family she had ever known. It made sense that she was finding common ground with her fellow Warden and a voice in the back of her mind suggested that it wasn’t a good idea to be building that common ground into something more interdependent. He was up for it, it seemed, which wasn’t helpful in trying to keep a clear head. Ri frowned as she walked, a weariness growing in her bones, this thing with Alistair was getting more complicated by the hour, what with his royal revelation, and yet the part of her that wanted him was at risk of overruling the part of her that was quite sure it was a bad idea.

As Sten took his turn in the back of the wagon, Alistair took his place walking by her side as if it were the most natural thing for him to do. Ri knew she ought to move away, to stop leading him on. There could be no future for them; by the sounds of it he should be king and she should remain the last Grey Warden in Ferelden until the Orlesian forces arrived to help rebuild the order. She definitely shouldn’t be thinking about his broad shoulders, or his large, warm hands. But the Blight made that all the more complicated. The Blight meant she needed him as a Warden. She needed his help in filling in the many many gaps in her knowledge before she could shoulder the burden alone. She needed the social advantages his male human form would bring; the doors her female elvhen self could not open. For a brief moment she hated how much she needed him, but then his bare hand reached out and took hers. By the faint light of the distant fireball Ri could see his gauntlet, gripped tightly in his other hand. Her heart swelled at the small gesture and she allowed her fingers to interlace with his, only the leather of her fingerless gloves between their palms. She wanted him. She wanted him far more than she needed him. The Blight was a complication they would have to face in time, his heritage was a complication in need of further discussion, but for now perhaps there was a time for some selfishness.

 

“Just round this corner and we’ll be on the final road,” Alistair announced, a hint of excitement in his weary voice. They were all exhausted as they pushed on; the wagon empty for the time being as the pony struggled valiantly to climb the hill. Dawn had long since broken, clearing the darkness, and prompting Alistair to drop Ri’s hand and replace his gauntlet. Ri suspected he was granting her some privacy to work out what they were, what they meant to one another, and she felt grateful, but her hand felt cold without his. In putting space between them, Alistair had opened up space for Mustela to occupy, so Ri let her hand drop to administer fond scritches to the warhound’s shoulders.

“Ho there!” a voice split the air as they approached the curve in the road. Ri automatically reached for her bow, noting that Sten and Morrigan were also making moves toward their weapons. Alistair stepped forward as an archer strolled forth to greet them. “I knew I saw travellers, ‘though I hardly dared to hope.” He was young, possibly in his early twenties, not that Ri was all that good at judging human ages. Deep red hair and a hint of worry in his eyes despite the smile on his face, the man joined them, looking around at the diverse group of people, his eyes widening as he took in Ri, Sten, Morrigan and Mustela, but he at least had the sense not to speak his surprise aloud. Instead he asked “Have you come to help us?” which caused Alistair immediate concern.

“Help you? What’s happened?”

“You- you don’t know? You’ve not come to-? We thought once people had heard they would send help,” the scout visibly sagged in his disappointment.

“Help?” Ri echoed, shouldering her bow and joining Alistair before the man. “Can’t the arl handle it?” she asked tentatively.

“The arl is ill, or was last we heard. No one has been let in or out of the castle in days now. They could all be- no one knows anything. Not that anyone would want to go in there. There’s monsters, they come out of the castle every night, attack the village. We’ve fought as best we could but they’re killing more of us than we are of them,” his voice rose weedily as he spoke, the panic coming out as he realised whatever cries for help had been emitted were clearly not reaching any outside ears. Ri placed her hand on Alistair’s elbow, finding some leather and padding where the armour plating left room for movement. She wasn’t sure if he felt her touch, but hoped he might, and might be calmed a little by it.

“Clearly a Blight is an ideal time for a monster invasion,” Morrigan muttered to herself,

“There’s no one to defend us,” the scout continued, either ignoring the witch, or he hadn’t heard her. “The army are gone, there’s no word from the arl, and there’s no king to call upon. Even the elves joined the fighting, but there’s no stopping it. So many people are dead, the people are giving up, they’re hiding instead of fighting; they’d rather die in their beds than on the streets.” Ri’s head whirled as she kept up with the man’s frightened diatribe. Too many of his words struck her like invisible blows. That they had no king and no arl led to only one end in her mind. Her hand dropped from Alistair’s elbow and she looked to him for a long moment, half-hoping he would speak up, and yet also whole-heartedly wishing that he wouldn’t. That the scout had mentioned elves hadn’t passed her notice. She supposed that there was an Alienage in Redcliffe, although what that truly meant was still beyond her understanding. She supposed these domesticated elves were under threat from the nightly ‘monsters’ as much as the humans were. That they would stand up for themselves didn’t sound so shocking to Ri. Surely even the lowliest beast would bite if provoked enough.

Alistair did not speak. Ri could see the moment he shut himself off from the world, the flash of fear that crossed his face. Heaving a sigh, she looked to the scout.

“Lead us into the town,” she instructed, noticing his double take at hearing her, an elf, giving orders, and glad to see that he did not dwell on it, instead turning and gesturing for her to follow. Ri fell in beside him, leaving Alistair and the others to lead the pony and wagon after them - a tricky job given the downward path they took that threatened to speed the cart faster than the exhausted pony could go. “Tell me more of these monsters,” she coaxed the human. “What are they?”

“I don’t know,” the man answered apologetically, his tone a little calmer now that he had a task. “Nobody knows.”

“That’s alright,” Ri soothed. “We are Grey Wardens, Alistair and I, and these are our friends. Who are you taking us to?”

“Bann Teagan, he’s sort of in charge what with there being no one else. He’ll want to talk to you. Grey Wardens? I never thought I would meet an actual Grey Warden- are you really?” Ri heard Alistair gasp at the name offered and assumed that meant he recognised it.

“Bann Teagan?” she pressed gently, not minding who answered, but wanting to be caught up on all the details.

“Arl Eamon’s brother,” the scout explained. “He’s been helping us pull together a militia of sorts.”

“And the arl’s forces are gone, you said?”

“Yes ser,” with the announcement of her Warden status, Ri seemed to have earned herself a title. She added that to her mental list of human quirks she planned to quiz Alistair about the next time she had him to herself. Not the first thing she had planned for such an event, but it was on the list. A fair way down the list.

“What’s your name?” she asked as they walked toward a large windmill, beyond which stood an immense stone castle. Much more fortress-like than Ostagar, this seemed to jut out of the clifftop, a sturdy stone building reaching to the sky, clearly screaming out to the world that it was a seat of power, and unassailable.

“Tomas,” came the response as their guide led them sharply to the right and onto a zigzagging road down the cliff toward the large group of dwellings, the buildings fanning out from a central square where there appeared to be many groups of people. A large, fast-flowing river shot down the cliff and tumbled through the village, Beyond the town, Ri fancied she could see the lake and docks in the far distance. She wanted to look back, to see Alistair’s face as he returned to this place that held so many conflicting memories, but she kept her eyes forward as Tomas led them through the square and into the village heading towards a large building with a familiar styling.

“Oh!” Leliana’s gasp confirmed Ri’s suspicions. “I have heard such wonderful things about the Chantry in Redcliffe.” Ri was more impressed with the number of buildings which appeared to rise on stilts, hovering above the shallows of the great lake.

“If you could leave your cart out here?” Tomas requested as he started toward the Chantry doors. Ri looked to her companions, immediately wary.

“I will stay with it,” Morrigan declared with a sigh.

“Thank you, Morrigan,” Ri smiled, turning her eyes to Sten in the hopes that he might offer to stay as well. The offer was not forthcoming, and Ri didn’t push her luck; now was not the time to risk the Qunari disobeying her requests in front of the lower ranks of nobility. A small balm to her worries came in the form of Mustela dutifully taking a seat beside the cart.

Ri drew herself up, rolling her shoulders back as she dredged her memory for what Alistair had told her of banns and arls. It would not be good to come across as a heathen from the wilds, even if that was technically what she was. To be taken seriously as a Warden, let alone any more senior position, Ri would have to learn quickly how to be taken seriously.

 

The inside of Redcliffe’s Chantry seemed to Ri to be quite like Lothering’s; filled with frightened refugees, and not quite enough templars or priestesses to keep everyone calm. It was slightly too loud and slightly too warm. Tomas marched down the centre of the building past a scattered number of sobbing women and children, leading Ri and her companions to a smartly dressed man with sword and shield on his back. He was clean and his clothing was made of expensive material which had clearly been very well tailored. Ri wondered for a second what he must think of her shabby war-worn armour, the Grey Warden blue and insignia partially obscured by blood and dirt.

“Tomas, isn’t it?” the noble met their guide with an officious greeting. “And who are these people?”

“They just arrived, my lord,” Tomas returned deferentially. “I thought you would want to see them. They might be able to help.”

“Well done, Tomas. Greetings travellers. I regret you have caught Redcliffe at a troublesome time. I am Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere, brother to the arl-” he broke off, narrowing his eyes a little. “I know you,” he declared. Alistair stepped forward with a deferential nod of his head.

“Yes, Bann Teagan. I believe the last time we met I was a lot younger, and quite possibly covered in mud.”

“Oh Alistair, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Teagan’s face lit up in relieved remembrance as he closed the space between them, throwing his arms around the younger man and clapping him on the back, the bann’s rings chiming loudly against Alistair’s armour. “This is precisely what we needed; to see a familiar face. Good timing indeed. We had heard that you had died.”

“You had?” Alistair seemed taken aback, although Ri wasn’t sure whether that was at hearing the news had reached this far, or whether it was simply surprise that someone had cared to pass it on. “I should have died. May still do so if Teyrn Loghain has anything to say about it.”

“Indeed, it was Loghain who sent word that all of the Grey Wardens perished along with my nephew,” Bann Teagan explained.

“The teyrn is not to be trusted,” Ri said calmly.

“Clearly,” Teagan nodded. “He is claiming that he pulled his men back in order to save them; that Cailan lost his head in the face of the battle and took everyone down with him in his desperation for glory. It’s clearly nonsense, but when there’s no one speaking for Cailan, I’m afraid the other arls may be persuaded to believe Loghain’s tales.” Ri had to hand it to Loghain; his lies were at least semi-believable. She hadn’t known Cailan for very long at all, but he had seemed very cavalier about the Blight.

“He has called for any surviving Wardens to be killed or delivered to him,” Ri added, remembering their encounter with Loghain’s men back in Lothering. “I don’t suppose he would look kindly on anyone harbouring us.”

“He can look as unkindly as he wants,” Teagan sniffed, looking from Ri and Alistair to Leliana and Sten. “You are not all Grey Wardens, surely?”

“Just Oriana and myself,” Alistair confirmed. “Leliana and Sten are assisting us against the Blight, as is Morrigan, who thankfully is waiting outside.” Ri wanted to kick Alistair for his little barb.

“We came to see Arl Eamon,” Ri steered the conversation back on track. “I presume that’s not going to be possible?”

“Last we heard from the castle, Eamon is gravely ill,” Teagan’s voice lowered. “That was days ago. The castle is locked up, there have been no sign of any guards patrolling, nor replies to my shouting over the walls. It has been hard to investigate further; a few nights ago the attacks started; evil things surged from the castle. We fought back as best we could, but they were stronger. Many have perished these past few nights.”

“What are they? Darkspawn?” Ri pressed, knowing there was no way they would be able to avoid a fight if one was coming.

“Not darkspawn,” Teagan frowned. “They are solid and relentless. They cut down anyone in their path. There are so many of them; they come down from the castle each night, taking anyone who dares fight against them. I sent out messages asking for aid, but with Cailan dead and Loghain mounting his campaign for the throne there is no one to come help us. Alistair, please say you and your friends will help us?”

“I- It isn’t my decision to make,” Alistair stuttered, causing Ri to wrinkle her nose in shock. “Before he died, Duncan had us retrieve some treaties to summon aid against the Blight. We were hoping that Eamon might help us gather some forces. If he’s-”

“Of course we’ll help,” Ri cut in, sending Alistair a questioning look. “We’re here, monsters are coming tonight, there’s no way we would walk away,” she glared at Sten and Leliana, daring them to disagree. “Although-” she gave a sigh, trying to draw herself up a little to make up for her diminutive stature. “We have been travelling since noon yesterday. Might it be possible for us to rest before nightfall?”

“Of course,” Teagan replied, the relief evident in his voice. “Lloyd!” his summons reached the ears of a human man in the corner of the Chantry. “Open your sleeping quarters for the rest of the day. The Wardens and their companions are to have whatever rooms you have available.”

“Yes ser,” the man replied sullenly. He stared openly at Ri and then Sten, the expression on his face telling Ri very plainly that he didn’t want them in his tavern, but had no say in the matter.

“I shall send someone to rouse you an hour before sundown,” Teagan declared, before turning away from them, waving another man over. Ri turned her tired eyes on the innkeeper.

“Well? Shall we go?”

“Oh alright,” he scowled. “I suppose I can find a couple of beds for you.”

“Four rooms,” Ri insisted, fixing the man with her most determined glare.

“What-” he sputtered, but fell silent as Alistair, Sten, and Leliana drew closer. “Very well,” he capitulated, leading the way out of the Chantry.

“And you will find stabling and sustenance for our pony,” Leliana added lightly.

 

“Four rooms?” Alistair pressed lightly as they fell into step behind the innkeeper. “When there are five of us?”

“Six, if you count the dog,” Ri returned softly.

“Very funny,” Alistair sighed. “I didn’t know if we were still - after our talk in the woods.”

“I’m tired,” Ri admitted, her voice low so the others didn’t hear. “I’m not offering anything. I just want to go to sleep, and I would rather not be alone. Are those favourable terms?”

“Quite frankly, anything that involves sleeping on something other than the ground or a moving hunk of wood sounds delightful.”

They entered a tavern perched halfway up the steep hillside, and Ri looked around to see a small group of militiamen around one table, a human woman bringing them a fresh round of drinks, and a lone elf sat in the opposite corner of the room. The waitress was the only one who turned at the sound of the door, the smile on her face briefly faded, then reappeared as if nothing had happened. She left the militiamen and greeted Lloyd, not managing to nip past him fast enough to avoid the grasp of his hand against the back of her dress. Ri bristled at the sight, but her reaction was cut off by the woman’s disappearing behind the bar. Lloyd led them straight through the communal area and up a small flight of stairs to the bedrooms. Space in Redcliffe seemed to be at a premium when compared to Lothering; the buildings were packed in tightly, stacked awkwardly up the steep cliff, and so the bedrooms were also smaller than Ri’s one reference point. She watched as her companions were shown into their rooms, with Leliana quietly coaxing Mustela to join her, until only Ri and Alistair were left. Lloyd looked between the two Wardens, raising his eyebrows lewdly.

“A man with exotic tastes, eh?” he sneered lasciviously. “For the right price I could send my waitress up to join you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Alistair replied, blushing a vivid red. Ri shook her head at Alistair’s restrained reaction, then turned to face the portly innkeeper.

“Banal’ras ma enfenim,” she kept her voice low, her hands away from her weapons. She had wounded shems in the past for much lighter slights, but it wouldn’t really do to kill the innkeeper on the eve of battle. That sort of thing was likely frowned upon in human settlements. “Tel’athim,” she spat, before pushing past Alistair and entering the bedroom.

“What did you say to him?” Alistair asked as he closed the door behind them. Ri scowled as she sat on the edge of the bed, her blood boiling with anger and irritation.

“Why didn’t you tell him to fuck off?” she asked, her voice belying her exhaustion rather than her righteous fury. “Why don’t you stand up for yourself? I don’t need or expect you to stand up for me, but you just-” she broke off, too tired to form a coherent argument.

“What have I done now?” Alistair sighed as he started the long process of removing his armour.

“Back in the chantry. What prompted you to um and ah instead of saying we would stay? In what world did you think we would turn around and leave these people to die?”

“I- I didn’t want to commit you to-”

“To saving a bunch of ignorant humans? What do you think this whole Blight thing is about?” Ri sighed, too tired to focus on any one thread of the argument. “You heard your brother,” she picked her words carefully, determined to shake him into sensibility. “We’re Grey Wardens, we’re glorious heroes.”

“Ri, please don’t,” Alistair dropped his pauldrons on the rush-covered floor. “Not now. You can lay into me another day. I’m tired, Eamon’s dying, or dead, and we’ve got yet another battle waiting for us after too little sleep.” And with that the wind was blown right out of Ri’s sails. She was angry still, but she wasn’t angry with Alistair.

Sullenly she pulled her leather boots off and threw them off the end of the bed, tossing her easily unbuckled bracers after them. As she finished removing her armour she looked up at Alistair and caught sight of the dejected expression on his face.

“You make it very hard to stay mad at you,” she offered into the near-silence of buckles being undone.

“Well that’s one skill I shall try to keep honed,” Alistair returned, a smile creeping over his lips. Ri chuckled as she pulled her jodhpurs off, standing up from the bed in only a close-fitting linen shirt over her breastband and smallclothes.

“Let me,” she crossed the floor in two paces and reached for the buckles on the side of his breastplate. Alistair raised his arms to grant her access as she deftly unbuckled the three fastenings. She moved to stand behind him, where she undid the buckle holding his tassets together. “Sit down,” she urged, pushing him toward the bed so she could kneel before him, firmly tugging each of his boots until they were free. Her fingers nimbly worked out the fastenings for the greaves and cuisses, removing the final plates of mail. There was more armour and weaponry on the floor of the small room than there was visible floor. It would have been laughable were they not so exhausted.

“Maker, Ri,” Alistair sighed. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

“I know,” Ri returned softly, climbing to her feet as Alistair removed his bloodstained shirt, revealing a bruise-riddled torso. Ri sucked in a breath as she surveyed the damage. “You’ll survive,” she decided, before gesturing for him to lie down. Climbing beneath the sheets, Ri marvelled at how warm Alistair seemed to be. She lay on her side, her spine somehow fitting perfectly against his chest, his thighs pressed against the backs of her own. Alistair’s arm snaked over her waist, and the last thing she remembered thinking before closing her eyes was that it was going to be a good while before they could put Alistair on the throne, and it seemed like part of that would be a case of convincing Alistair to want to rule. They probably had a couple of months of travelling around following these oh-so-important treaties before they would need to part ways. There was a lot they could do in a couple of months.

 

Ri woke, not feeling all that rested, with the early afternoon sun still shining through the window. Trying to remain as quiet as she could, she rose to sit on the side of the bed where she sat for a long time, her head in her hands as she tried to come to terms with her situation. The prolonged lack of sleep, coupled with the knowledge that within the next few hours they would be fighting again, filled her with a heavy sense of dread.

“Is it time?” Alistair’s voice, heavy with sleep, sounded from behind her.

“I don’t think so,” she replied. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Want to talk?” Ri couldn’t understand how the other Warden was always so open and earnest, especially given what he had experienced in his life. Ri thought of how his father had abandoned him from birth, his mother had died, Arl Eamon had been so easily convinced to toss him aside, and even his brother had barely spared him the time of day.

“I didn’t think it would be like this, being a Warden,” she confessed. “I barely thought past the whole not dying thing. I didn’t expect how full on it would be.”

“Until a week ago it was all quite dull,” Alistair reached out in the darkness, his hand finding Ri’s hip and gently resting his palm against the thin fabric of her shirt.

“I definitely can’t be held responsible for the whole Blight,” Ri laughed lightly.

“I know, I know,” Alistair capitulated, then gave a deep sigh. “Is this real?” he asked tentatively. “Or is it all just grief and desperation?”

“I don’t know,” Ri raised her own hand and placed it over his. “I really don’t know. I don’t think it’s bad, to not want to be alone at a time like this. But I don’t know what it is.”

“Well, as long as we’re both making it up as we go along that works, right?” Ri laughed at Alistair’s hopeful tone.

“It’s something to build from,” she agreed. “Right now I think I’m going to head down, see if there’s any food going. I expect the birds I caught yesterday are no use to anyone now. See you down there?”

“Yeah, I’ll just be a moment,” Alistair groaned as Ri stood, breaking the contact between them.

“Tomorrow,” she promised hesitantly. “Assuming we live through these monsters and save this bloody village, then everyone else can sod right off. We’re locking this door and not opening it for anyone.”

“I suppose I can live with that,” he said, looking up at Ri as she pulled her jodhpurs on. For a moment she couldn’t help but to compare the almost pain-filled longing in his eyes with the much more restrained admiration Tamlen had had for her. As she looked at Alistair she mused over his words; she couldn’t argue against the grief and desperation they were feeling, and which undoubtedly drew them together. Tamlen had known her, or at least he had known her as she had been when they had been together; before his death and before she had been forced to leave the clan. There was so much difference between the elvhen man she had grown up with, and this human who had barrelled into her life, a spark of hope amidst a torrent of destruction. She knew she wanted Alistair, but she was also all too aware that there was a lot more resting on their shoulders than just their individual desires. Every moment she spent looking at him she could feel her sensibilities warring with her irrational physical yearnings. The more she pushed herself to accept the proper state of things, the more she knew that she would not be able to keep herself from being with him.

 

The patrons of the bar hadn’t changed in the short time Ri had been attempting sleep. The trio of men in the corner had finished their flagons and were now each tucking in to a plate of food. The elf remained at his table, his smaller ears letting Ri know he wasn’t one of her kind of elf. She avoided meeting his eyes as his head turned to watch her entrance. Spotting Morrigan seated in a dark corner, tucking into her own pastry-covered meal, Ri made her way to that table.

“Not sleeping?”

“Evidently,” the witch retorted, causing Ri to wonder, for a short moment, exactly how old she was. In many ways she seemed older than the elf’s twenty four years, but then there were churlish flashes of their not being so distant in age.

“You mind the company? Or-”

“Sit where you like,” Morrigan said with her usual air of nonchalance. “We have dined together before, and likely will again. Why should today be any different?” Ri felt her stomach growl and looked toward the bar, meeting the eye of the red-headed waitress they had met on their way in. She took a seat opposite Morrigan, deciding that apathy wasn’t enough of a reason to sit apart from the woman.

“Can I get you anything?” the waitress asked.

“Whatever’s ready to eat, please. Something warm and filling,” Ri requested.

For a long moment there was silence as the two women sat, each alone in their thoughts. Ri could feel the eyes of the militiamen on them and supposed they must make an odd sight. Morrigan’s garb set her obviously aside from the locals; revealing and exotic when compared to the sturdy dress Ri had seen on most other human women. Even if they didn’t know what a witch of the wilds was, the men must surely know she wasn’t Redcliffe’s usual visitor. And then there she was, not the only elf in the tavern, but the only one with the darker skin and longer ears of the Dalish.

“Do you intend to continue this dalliance with the future king?” Morrigan’s question came out of nowhere, her voice soft but with dangerous undertones.

“I- what?” Ri sputtered, not sure where to even begin in formulating an answer.

“I don’t suppose you expect to be his queen, you must know that’s not possible. So are you angling for a position in the court? Royal mistresses are not unknown in Ferelden.”

“What do you care?” Ri spat back, not in the mood to entertain Morrigan.

“Is this not what girls do? Talk about boys, warn each other of questionable choices?” the witch queried lightly.

“Perhaps it is what human girls do. Dalish women speak straight and speak truths, or they hold their tongues,” Ri’s tones were icy. “So say your piece or let us go back to silence.”

“He will hurt you,” Morrigan sobered up.

“It’s possible that I might hurt him,” the elf countered.

“'Tis certain,” Morrigan confirmed. “Only hurt lies down this path, should you be foolish enough to follow it.”

“Now that does sound likely,” Ri sighed. “But then there will be pain nonetheless. Isn’t it better to have the pain after the sweetness rather than instead of it?”

“Better for you, perhaps,” Morrigan started to close off again. “You think him the type to give up without a fight.”

“Well, if you were to give me a little more detail then perhaps I could make informed decisions and it might not go quite as horribly as you seem to think it will,” Ri scowled, knowing the chances of the witch spilling her secrets were pretty unlikely.

“There are too many possibilities,” Morrigan mused. “Even if I could tell you, I know not what to say in this moment.”

“Well, that’s that then,” Ri shook her head.

 

As the two women ate, neither one attempting to make conversation, they were joined by their companions. Alistair slid into the booth beside Ri, the armour making him seem twice the size of her as she moved aside to accommodate him. Bella, the waitress, returned with each new arrival, bringing them food and drink and saying nothing about payment.

“There were some birds in our wagon,” Ri pressed the affable redhead. “I caught them on our way here, but-”

“They’re plucked and hanging in the larder,” Bella returned with a smile.

“Make sure you get a meal from them, not just your boss and his patrons,” Ri insisted.

“Yes, ser,” she nodded her head, a grateful expression passing briefly across her face.

 

The meal was ended a little prematurely at the sounds of horns from within the village and the sudden movement of the militia men, who gathered their helmets and swords and left the pub.

“That’s our cue,” Ri announced, looking around at the almost empty pub. Only the barkeep, Lloyd, Bella, and the sullen elf remained as the mismatching band of elf, Qunari, priestess, witch, and Templar - had they each stayed on their own paths, rose to their feet and filed out after the other fighters.


	17. Closing In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter name taken from the song by Ruelle

“Am I expected to wield your daggers once more, or is there a weapon better befitting my abilities?” Sten asked as the small band made their way down the hill toward the village square.

“Oh shit,” Ri cursed, having forgotten about the Qunari’s lack of weaponry. Of course he needed to be armed, but she didn’t fancy entering a fight without her blades as back up should this mysterious army of monsters get within her arrow range, or the long night prove to contain more enemies than her quiver contained arrows.

“I could just take the priestess’s,” the Qunari said lightly, causing Leliana to gasp in horror.

“Whyever do you think I would let you?” she asked, infuriated.

“It would free you up to join the other women within the holy house administering aid and comforting the young,” Sten explained flatly, as if exasperated she didn’t already know her place.

“Are Oriana and Morrigan not also women to be shut away from the fighting?” Leliana retorted angrily.

“That remains to be proven either way,” Sten sniffed. “Neither dresses nor behaves in a particularly womanly manner.”

“I don’t know about that,” Alistair muttered, his voice for Ri’s ears only. She let out a snicker of laughter, before straightening her face.

“We will find you a sword, Sten, but it will not be Leliana’s.”

 

In the village square it was not Bann Teagan who met them, but a stocky man in leather armour, dark brown hair and thick beard surrounding a gruff face. He spotted the newcomers as soon as they passed through the makeshift barricades.

“Grey Warden?” he asked, locking eyes with Alistair. “Thought the bann said there was two of yer?”

“I am Warden Oriana,” Ri announced sharply.

“Is that so?” the man’s disappointment shone glaringly through his tone and his facial expression. Ri fought the urge to scowl at him, instead continuing to grasp for the imperious high road.

“My friend here is in need of a suitable sword,” she gestured to Sten.

“Friend?” the man’s bushy brows lifted even further as he took in the large Qunari. “There are spares just outside the chantry. Help yourself.”

“Ah, Alistair, well rested, I hope?” Bann Teagan’s jovial tones split through the terse conversation as Ri nodded for Sten to go find a weapon. Looking unimpressed, the Qunari left the group and headed toward the chantry steps. “You’ve met Mayor Murdock, good. He’s been mounting an impressive defence these past few days, despite the absence of Eamon’s armies,” Teagan continued, unaware of any animosity. “You remember Alistair, don’t you Murdock? He was Eamon’s ward, of sorts. Back before the Arlessa arrived.”

“That tubby ginger kid always getting into trouble?” Murdock squinted a little, observing the now furiously blushing former stableboy. “Yes, I see it now. Thought you was sent to the monastery?”

“I was,” Alistair grimaced. “Grey Warden now. Fighting darkspawn and whatnot. You know there’s a Blight on-”

“Where do the monsters come from?” Ri interrupted, not impressed by yet another human pissing contest.

“The castle, mostly, but also the lake. Possibly more places,” Murdock shrugged. “The past few nights we’ve fought them here. Ser Perth and his men are up at the windmill; they’ve managed to hold back those numbers for the past couple of nights, but the monsters have increased in number.”

“We’ll join them,” Alistair offered before Ri could put some thought into their tactics.

“That’s the spirit,” Teagan clapped Alistair on his shoulder, metal gloves clanging against plate armour. Ri turned away from them to look for Sten and found the Qunari walking back toward them with a large greatsword in his hand, testing its weight and grimacing a little.

 

“Who’s Ser Perth?” Ri asked, as they trudged back up the steep path toward the windmill that stood at the top of the cliff.

“Oh, just some guy I used to know. Bit of a tosser, used to like bossing us stablehands about.” There seemed, Ri thought, to have been a lot of that going around.

“How’s the sword, Sten?” she asked, jovially attempting to steer the subject.

“It will suffice,” the Qunari grunted. A moment’s silence followed as Ri realised that was all she was going to get.

“Leliana,” she tried her luck elsewhere. “Was the Redcliffe chantry everything you had hoped it would be?”

“I should like to spend a little more time in there to truly appreciate it,” the woman offered. “I can see how, should the sun be in the right position, those windows would bathe the floor in a divine light,” Leliana sighed at the mental image.

“Perhaps we shall be able to find some leisure time tomorrow and you might see it for yourself,” Ri was optimistic that the battle would go well; after all what could a couple of ‘monsters’ be after fighting darkspawn on numerous occasions. They reached the summit of the steep path and found a very small battalion of no more than a dozen men. It was always men, Ri noted. She had yet to see a female human fighter in the military, although she was certain she had seen women in armour when they were at Ostagar. This sort of imbalance would never have existed amongst the Dalish. Sure there were some jobs more suited to the women with their nimbler fingers, and some more suited to men with their increased brawn, but when it came to a fight every elf old enough to bear arms would take a stand.

Alistair made a beeline for one of the soldiers; tall and not that much younger than Alistair, he was attractive even to Ri’s elvhen eyes. Long auburn hair drawn back in a pristine cue only seemed to exaggerate his captivating blue-green eyes.

“Greetings Grey Wardens!” the knight met them warmly. “Bann Teagan sent word that you had arrived at Redcliffe earlier. Are you to join my men for this evening’s defence efforts?”

“That is the plan,” Alistair replied drily. Ri gave the smallest shake of her head at his new attitude, then turned a warm smile on the human knight.

“We’re happy to be up here to meet these aggressors head on,” she beamed, upping her charm just to see what Alistair’s reaction would be. He simply turned to gape at her. “You must be Ser Perth,” she pressed, as Alistair didn’t seem in the mood to conduct introductions.

“I am. I must confess, I neither know your name, nor how to address you. I do not wish to be rude; I have never met an elf Grey Warden before.”

“My name is Oriana Mahariel,” Ri smiled, not going far enough with the charm offensive as to give him her more intimate seeming nickname. “I suppose Warden Oriana is proper.” It was refreshing, meeting a human who didn’t seem to be confounded by her sex or her species, but it would take more than a few polite words to make her trust him.

“Well, Warden Oriana, my battleground is your battleground, the sun is setting in two candlemarks. If you need anything from me or my men, do not hesitate to ask. Nice to see you again, Alistair,” he added the last part almost as an afterthought, giving the younger Warden a knowing wink, before nodding at the rest of the party, seemingly unfazed by the odd mix of people.

“What now then, Oriana?” Alistair asked, his voice low and half-teasing as he used her full name, stretching the syllables almost musically.

“We’ve less than an hour, but the windmill looks pretty sturdy, you think anyone would notice if we disappeared?” she returned, equally playful. “Or, we could just get on with it right here. We’ve been talking about it for days now,” Alistair’s eyes widened.

“I-” he started, looking around at their companions standing just behind them.

“Sword out, soldier,” Ri grinned. “It’s time to spar.” She looked to Sten and Leliana and gave an open smile. “Feel like a warm up, it’s not often we’ll be given this level of preparation. Morrigan - is there anything you want to do?”

“There are some small preparations I can make whilst you all swing your swords about,” the witch replied coolly, causing irritation to rise within the elf Warden at this persistent animosity from Morrigan when it came to her own personal affairs.

“Suit yourself,” she retorted, then looked up at Sten. “If I spar with you, are you going to forever make comments about how I’m clearly not a woman?”

“Perhaps,” came the honest answer, “unless you stop the pretence at womanhood. That or resume more womanly duties.” Ri let out a heavy sigh, then turned back to Alistair.

“He’s all yours,” she shook her head in disapproval, then offered Leliana a broad smile as she drew her two blades. “Shall we non-women warm up together and leave the men to it?”

 

The elvhen and human women danced through simple sword moves, limbering up to the subtle tune of sword softly meeting sword. Ri knew Alistair was watching, rather than doing the same exercise with Sten. Everyone was watching; Ser Perth, his men, Mustela. Even Morrigan was glancing up every now and then. Mostly, Ri thought, she didn’t care; she wasn’t doing this to show off, but there was an undeniable part of her that was enjoying the attention. Leliana flashed her a small smile, the Chantry Sister seemingly having as much fun as she was. Their shadows grew longer as the sun dipped down toward the horizon, and eventually there came a polite cough from Ser Perth.

“The time grows near,” he spoke. Ri stepped back from Leliana, the two women both lowering their weapons. Without conferring, Leliana dropped a deep curtsy just as Ri bent at the waist, forming a respectful bow, the two women chuckling at their accidentally corresponding movements. An appreciative smattering of applause faded quickly at the distant sound of movement. Ri felt her heart sink as the reality of the situation returned to her.

“Are you fighting up front?” Alistair asked as he joined Ri and Leliana. The elvhen Warden looked around, spotting three archers gathering near the windmill.

“Not at first,” she decided. “I can probably do better with them. Once I’ve run out of arrows I’ll come forward and save your arse,” she offered a cheeky wink, replacing her blades on her belt, then clapping one hand on Alistair’s upper arm, an unconscious repeat of the action Teagan had made earlier. “Stay alive,” she lowered her voice. “I have such plans for you in the morning.”

“Oh yes?” Alistair’s eyes widened.

“It would be wrong of us to pass up the chance to make good use of that bed,” she purred, then walked away. Ignoring her earlier frustrations, Ri approached Morrigan with a smile on her face. “Are you at the back with me?”

“I suppose I must be,” came the dour response.

“I probably don’t need to say it, but I don’t think these soldiers would take kindly to your shape changing without warning them,” Ri regretted her words as soon as she had spoken.

“I don’t take kindly to this sort of pointless battle,” Morrigan glared.

“Feel free to sit it out,” Ri hissed, her voice low enough to escape the attention of the soldiers around them. “Fly away and we’ll see you whenever you do feel like joining in.”

“Is that what you command, oh fearless leader?” Ri rolled her eyes.

“I thought I was just leader of the Wardens,” she joked. “Didn’t realise the Witches of the Wilds followed anyone.”

“Don’t be facetious,” Morrigan snapped, walking deliberately away from the archers and gripping hold of her staff in readiness.

 

The sun dipped beneath the horizon and the dim battlefield became awash with the flickering flames of strategically placed torches. Ri stood ready with the other three archers, her bow in one hand, a fresh arrow in the other, her entire body quivering with the electric buzz of anticipation.

The moment between waiting and fighting seemed to come in the blink of an eye. One minute they were staring into the darkness of the narrow road to the castle, listening to their heartbeats warring with the distant footfalls of unseen monsters. Then the monsters were upon them. Ri heard clashes and crunches as suddenly their front lines were embroiled in activity. Her fellow archers sprung into action, causing Ri to start in alarm. She couldn’t see anything to aim at; just a sea of darkness. A moving sea of darkness.

“Are we firing blind?” Ri asked the nearest archer.

“There are so many of them,” came the dire reply. “Anything beyond our guys will probably hit.” Ri didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of wasting arrows without knowing what she was targeting.

“Morrigan,” she shouted above the clashing sounds of battle. “Anything you can do?” There came a low cursing in return; not in elvhen or common, but it was unmistakably a curse. Ri sullenly loosed an arrow high into the near darkness and was rewarded with a thud. The smallest of whooshing noises heralded a burst of light as Morrigan responded to Ri’s call for help. One by one, five balls of yellow-orange light emerged from the tip of her staff, and she sent them low and over the approaching creatures. Ri’s elvhen eyesight in the low light was by far better than that of her human companions, and so she was the first to get a good view of the extent of their situation. They were a dozen at most, facing a force of at least four times their number. The enemy were people, albeit people appearing to have been carved from the earth, clay, or - she stopped herself as the answer became crystal clear. They were cut from the red rocky earth upon which they all stood and after which the cliffs, castle, and village were named.

Under the lightly flickering glow Ri was able to aim with more precision; she had a good line of sight between the silhouetted shapes of Sten, standing a large Qunari head taller than the humans that surrounded him, and Alistair on the other side. Ri bit back a silent self-rebuke; she was distracted by the human’s presence, this wasn’t ideal. She kept her arrows high, aiming for the earthen creatures several rows back so as to maintain a longer focal point, yet Alistair remained always there at the corner of her vision. This was not ideal. At least with Tamlen she had never worried about him, but then the worst they had come up against had been arrogant humans. Watching Alistair hack angrily at dirt-monsters was twisting something inside her belly, drawing her attention from the task at hand.

The front lines were pushed back a step, but it wasn’t for want of trying - Ri watched as between the volley of arrows, the swords, and Morrigan’s bolts of magic force, the enemy were starting to fall. Not that fall was precisely the right word; they seemed to crumble, to disintegrate forming sizeable piles of powdered soil where they had stood.

To her left, Ri watched as one of these earthen monsters broke through the front line. As one, the archers all loosed their arrows. Ri watched her offering strike the being’s shoulder accompanied by three other arrows from her bow-wielding comrades. The monster paused as large cracks scattered outward from each impact point, the four arrows connecting and the cracks widening before the humanoid figure was split in two, each part disintegrating as it was reduced to a pile of ash on the hard ground. Ri tried to focus on the fact that the creatures could be stopped rather than the fact that they all appeared to have their own faces. Faces too detailed and too individual to be anything other than replicas of real people. Or mayhaps they once were people. That was too unnerving to dwell upon. Ri narrowed her eyes, finding a brown-red torso and sending a volley of arrows toward it.

The melee fighters were slowly being pushed back, their wall splitting as the relentless wave of enemies continued. Ri could see a mound of earth before them, a loose heap which seemed to slow the approaching enemies as their feet slipped through the fine dust. This held them still long enough for Ri to make her shots, wounding the onslaught before they stumbled forth onto waiting swords.

Periodically one of the archers would shout ‘Bow up’, before retreating from his position and returning with a refreshed quiver. She looked back over her shoulder and made out in the low light a stack of arrow bundles, each tied up and ready to go.

“You low?” the nearest archer asked. Ri’s hand immediately went to her back, where she found a scant half-dozen arrows remaining.

“Could certainly use some more if these guys are going to keep this up,” she hollered back.

“Help yourself,” came the generous response. “Don’t worry about yelling anything; that’s just for our rhythm.”

“Thanks,” Ri flashed a quick smile of appreciation she wasn’t sure the archer would see in the low light. She made quick work of her remaining arrows, checking she was still free from encroaching earth creatures, then darted back to the foot of the windmill to grab up a bundle of arrows. Her quiver was a little too narrow for the large bundle, clearly made to fit the knights’ larger quivers, but she stuffed as many in as she could in little time, returning to her position with eight arrows tucked into her belt.

The relentless monsters were still thumping their solid fists against Alistair’s shield, and attempting to get past Leliana’s deft swordwork, but it seemed almost like their numbers were waning. By the time Ri had finished her belt-held arrows and started reaching for her quiver the number of monsters upon them had dwindled such that there were more allies than enemies.

 

“That’s it?” Alistair panted as he pulled his sword upward, reducing the earth creature to dust. Ser Perth gave a dry chuckle as he kicked a falling corpse backwards, watching it dissolve into the pile of red dirt. “This is only the beginning, more of these will come soon, and then things get interesting,” as he spoke a shambling figure entered the well-lit corridor of the road to the castle. Ri watched as one of her fellow archers stepped forward, delivering two arrows in quick succession to the figure’s neck, the two wounds aligning to weaken the neck sufficiently that the figure was headless and crumbling before reaching their front lines.

“Interesting?” Leliana frowned. “Interesting doesn’t sound good.”

“It really isn’t,” one of Perth’s men grimaced.

They were allowed a fifteen minute break with only a scant handful of staggering creatures lumbering toward them, each one easily picked off. The thundering footsteps began again and beneath Morrigan’s hovering orbs of fire they saw another force, heading toward the torches, blades, arrows, magic staff and mabari jaws. Ri readied herself, nocking the arrows she had reclaimed from the loose piles of red dust. Very quickly it became clear that the bottleneck of the road leading to the castle was all that was keeping them winning the battle. The enemy seemed determined to march, and to raise their solid arms at anyone stood in their way. As much as it was fairly straight forward to fall into a comfortable pattern; picking them off as they squeezed through the narrow pass, the battle was not without incident. Ri watched as twice the monsters broke through the ranks; each time bodily shoving into the melee fighters. Ri watched in horror the first time as Alistair staggered backwards from the impact. Immediately Leliana and two of Perth’s knights laid into the earth monster, quickly reducing it to dust. Ri kept up her volley of arrows against the onslaught, whilst keeping an eye on her fellow Warden as he recovered from the blow.

Ri heard the noise a fraction of a moment before the others, or at least before they reacted. A soft rushing sound, almost a breeze through leaves, but louder and more insistent. It grew stronger; a determined susurration of something more akin to a person breathing than a wind blowing. Ri glanced to her side and saw a grim expression come to the faces of her dimly lit fellow archers.

“Brace!” yelled Ser Perth, his voice reaching Ri’s ears ahead of a swelling in the unnerving noise. Ri frowned, straining her eyes to see through the darkness. “Archers, stand down.”

“What is it?” she shouted to the nearest archer, but the rising ghastly howl swallowed her words. Hot on the heels of the overwhelming noise came the first tendrils of the wind reached her, a chill breeze that first picked at her hair, and then rapidly grew in strength, buffeting her from all sides at once. The chill realisation that she had effectively been disarmed struck Ri as she planted her feet against the wind that threatened to send her sprawling. With a sense of growing fear the Dalish elf holstered her bow and pulled her blades from her belt, the wind and the rapidly decreasing visibility rendering the ranged weapon useless. Ri raised her blades, her eyes straining to see anything through the dusted earth monster remains that were being whipped up by the wind. The red creature was on her before she was even aware it was nearby. Up close she could see ever more disturbing details; impossibly dark holes where its eyes ought to be. It turned its head, unseeing but somehow aware of her presence, and lunged toward her. Ri couldn’t react in time, feeling the solid mass knock into her, sending her sprawling across the ground. She leapt back up and swung her blades wildly as she tried to find her enemy through the impenetrable storm. A renewed sense of awe filled her that these few knights had managed to hold their position the past few nights.

Then she heard the screaming.

It was impossible to know who it was, making the horrendous sound. Almost animal, but seeming to have a voice, Ri spun in a circle, swinging her blades at the glimpses of red earth, but not feeling anything give way to the attacks.

Not knowing how many of the monsters were slipping past, or even in which direction lay the edge of the cliff and certain death, Ri stopped turning and dropped to a crouch, taking the moment to settle her panic. The screaming continued; multiple voices now, a gut wrenching symphony of pain and fear somehow splitting through the roar of the wind. No - Ri frowned - the screams were coming from the wind. It didn’t make any sense. She shot a blade out to snag the ankle of an earth monster as it passed close enough for her to strike.

A yellow-orange flare illuminated the dust-filled winds to her left; bright for a moment then settling to a dull glow. “Morrigan,” Ri reasoned, her voice immediately lost to the wind’s howl. Carefully rising to a stand, Ri braced herself against the wind, then started hesitantly walking toward the fire, not wanting to get too close lest the witch bun her in her wind-induced blindness. Another earth creature appeared from the darkness, colliding with Ri’s right arm and sending her once more to the floor. Ri stabbed upward repeatedly until the being disintegrated over her, but by the time she gingerly stood up, her chest heaving and her arm sore from the impact, the fire was gone.

Letting out a choked sob, Ri held her injured arm close. A tentative flex of the fingers revealed no serious damage, although the leather was scored and ripped. For a moment she longed for a simple battle against the single-minded darkspawn. This was a new level of awful, and something she wasn’t entirely sure she would survive.

 

The wind ended in a brief flash of white-blue light. It took Ri a long moment to realise what had happened. The light had flared, rushing over her like a wave, destroying the powerful wind, and reducing the horde of monsters to a thick layer of earth. As the wave shot outward from some indeterminate central point, it took out the floating balls of fire Morrigan had created, plunging the clifftop into a silent near-darkness.

Straining her eyes in the faint moonlight, Ri was relieved when she heard the soft sound of a flint, followed by the sudden light of one of the torches being re-lit. Perth’s men acted quickly, re-lighting the other torches as the shaken group gathered together. Ri surveyed her people, quickly ascertaining they were all still with her. All of them, even Sten, wore shock upon their faces. Leliana wrapped her arms around herself, as if to ward off any further attacks. Alistair wobbled on his feet, his eyes finding hers with the same desperate relief Ri felt at seeing him there; hale and whole. No one seemed to be bleeding or obviously injured, but Ri knew it would be too much of a stretch to imagine any one of them would forget that battle any time soon.

“What happened-” Ri started to ask, but broke off as Morrigan strode forward, an air of pure anger to her movement.

“How dare you?” she shrieked, her usual intangible coolness completely vanquished. “How fucking dare you?” with a jolt of surprise, Ri realised the witch was talking to Alistair. “If you ever, _ever_ do that again then I am gone, you hear me?” Here she swung her head around to face Ri. “I will leave and you both will fall.” The woman’s free hand was shaking violently, the other clutching tightly to her staff. She looked almost bereft as she glared once more at Alistair before turning and walking toward the windmill.

“What did you do?” the elf asked, far from understanding what had transpired.

“Templar trick,” Alistair admitted gravely. “I ended all magic in the area. It was the only way-” he broke off, shaking his head. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“How did you hold them back before?” Ri turned on the human knight, his face pallid and wearied in the flickering firelight.

“It wasn’t that bad before,” Ser Perth admitted quietly. “The wind was loud and distracting, but it was never like that,” he trailed off, clearly shaken.

“How long will it last?” Ri returned to Alistair. “Or is it a one time thing?” she glanced towards the pass, seeing no sign of approaching monsters.

“It should hold a fair radius for a couple of hours,” he admitted, a hint of pride to his soft tones.

“And you can do it again?”

“Not as strong. I’ve not had lyrium for many months now, my abilities are limited. I should be able to see us through to dawn.”

“Then you stay up here with Perth’s men. Do what you can, send for us if you get overwhelmed.” Alistair’s eyes widened as he realised what she was saying.

“You’re heading down to the village?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “It stands to reason that it’s worse down there than it was before, just as it was worse up here,” in the torchlight Ri saw Ser Perth nod grimly as she gave her thoughts. “Morrigan, Leliana, Sten,” she raised her voice so the witch might hear. “You will come with me down the hill to help defend the village. Alistair, keep Mustela, send her to me if you need us to return. Perth, what will your men do?”

“I would leave two with Warden Alistair,” he ventured. “Not that I doubt your skill,” he added quickly. “Just as a further safety net. Jerold, Vincent, you hold the line. The rest of you, we follow the Grey Warden.”

“Come to the village at dawn,” Ri lowered her voice as the rest gathered their weapons and made ready to depart. “No matter what happens, when the danger passes you come find me,” she met Alistair’s eyes, seeing her own worry mirrored.

“I will, Warden Commander,” he replied, the title for her ears only. Ri felt her breath hitch at the very thought of holding such a position.

“See you in the morning, my king,” she returned fire, pressing a kiss to his lips with no care for the audience.

 

Moments later, her blades firmly in her hands, Ri led the way down the steep winding path, Ser Perth beside her, holding a torch aloft. A small army marched behind them, as they walked. Ri keenly felt the loss of her fellow Warden as they headed toward the sounds of screams emanating from the coastal village. Selfishly she was glad to leave him in the relative safety of his unsettling power. All the same; without Alistair and Mustela she felt keenly alone.


	18. Feel The Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title by Mumford and Sons

The rushing winds seemed to be absent from the lower ground of Redcliffe village, yet the scene Ri and Perth led their troops toward was worse than that they had left behind. The village square was a mess, albeit a well lit mess. Several large torches had been strategically placed atop tall poles. Ri supposed this had been done in advance of the fighting, and in expectation of a simpler fight. One of the poles had fallen down, presumably pushed over, and had set a small fire atop a pile of wooden crates. None of the surrounding infrastructure seemed to be at risk, especially when Ri considered the enemies they were presented with. The same earth-formed creatures roamed; each one charging blindly about the square; careening off of the fronts of buildings. They appeared to be driven toward sound, as each yell, scream, and clash of sword against earth seemed to summon another monster. New to Ri’s eyes were the impossible creatures coming from the water. Waves twenty feet tall were crashing over the squat buildings, forming into human-sized figures as they met the ground. These figures rushed at the villagers and militia, swallowing each person up whole until their victim could shake free. Ri watched in horror as one man fell to the water beast, his hands raised to his mouth, his face contorting in horror as he stood drowning on solid land.

“What manner of demon is this?” Perth gasped, also unable to tear his eyes from the merciless aquatic foe.

“No demon,” Morrigan growled, her hands sparking with renewed magic. “This is a mage’s work. An untutored mage,” Ri glanced back to encourage the woman to continue. “Commonly mages find it easier to start expressing their magic using the base elements. First lessons are thus designed to harness power over earth, air, fire and water; to create and protect. This is basic creation, albeit on a larger scale.”

“Why only at night?” Ri mused.

“Questions for the morning, perhaps,” Morrigan said in an amused tone, before sending a fireball toward the nearest earth creature.

“Indeed,” Ri followed suit, swapping her blades for bow and arrow and clambouring atop a sturdy barricade. Perth shouted orders to his men, and they quickly spread out amongst the battlefield, disappearing into the fray. Ri started firing arrows at any of the earth monsters within her range. Sten and Leliana remained in front of the barricade, cutting their way through the oncoming creatures. With her head held imperiously high Morrigan sauntered away; casting the earth creatures aside as she made a beeline for the coast.

 

The fighting was less intense beneath the elevated fires lighting the village. The large sprawling square allowed the earth monsters to spread out, bashing much less violently against the shields and defences of the human militia. As she picked off the more boisterous monsters, Ri’s attention was drawn to activity near the river that ran through the middle of the village. Smaller waves were pulsing unnaturally upstream, swamping a small bridge Ri hadn’t noticed earlier in the day. A gathering of people stood on the far side of the river, noticeably less armed and armoured than the militia and the other people of the village. Ri felt a sense of kinship even as her mind was just starting to realise who she was looking at. Their slight frames and separation from the main settlement meant they could only be the elves of Redcliffe, their alienage presumably separated from the human dwellings by the swift-moving water.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Ri shouted to her two remaining companions, before impetuously jumping down from her perch. With a practised motion she swapped her bow for her blades, hacking at the angrily roaming monsters as she ran past them, drawing their attention away from the tired village folk, and aiming deep blows to force cracks through their solid forms.

The river was raging, spurts of water leaping out toward the bank but not managing to gain purchase and take form. Even so, the elves seemed to be struggling against the solid earth monsters. Ri scowled as she drew close enough to see why - the elves had a single bonfire lighting the entrance way to their small village-within-a-village. They were woefully under prepared, despite having suffered this attack for a number of nights now. Barely a dozen men stood, wielding iron pokers and metal shovels, each one a pale imitation of the Dalish hunters and crafters Ri had grown up with.

Pausing for a moment, Ri deemed the bridge far too dangerous to attempt crossing. It was completely overrun with frenetic waves, each one looking to Ri a little too like a grasping hand. She looked up and down the riverbank, noting the steep incline to her left as the river tuned into a relentless waterfall and immediately dismissing it as a route across. Downstream the human village rose up on stilts over the once peaceful bay. A watermill jutted out into the water’s flow, the mill wheel rocking as the angry water buffeted against it. Ri acted quickly, running toward the buildings and scaling a pile of wooden crates to get atop the mill’s roof.

Creeping forward, Ri leant out over the rushing water, gauging the distance between the rooftop and the other bank. It was far, but perhaps not insurmountable if she had enough forward motion to land nicely. Her bow likely wouldn’t survive a tumble though, she had to admit. With a sigh, she nocked an arrow, loosing it into the closest earth monster - better to make use of her weapon than to abandon it with a half-filled quiver. It didn’t take long to exhaust her supply of arrows, so she gently placed the bow and empty quiver atop the mill’s roof, hoping it would still be there the following morning. Her blades hung at her hips, ready for use, as she rose to the balls of her feet, judging the distance once more. Satisfied that the far bank wasn’t getting any closer, Ri backed up over the red clay tiles, took a deep breath, and ran forward.

Ri launched herself from the edge of the roof and for the longest of moments she soared through the air, falling with a desperate lack of grace. she put all of her strength into the forward motion. The ground rose up to meet her, and her feet mercifully met solid earth as she pushed herself forward, tucking into a clumsy roll so as to avoid staggering back into the rushing water. Wincing at the new bruises she had certainly earned, Ri pushed herself to her feet, drawing the two blades as she hurried toward the bonfire and the fighting elves.

 

For perhaps the first time in her life Ri felt a sharp pang of regret that she had not taken up training in the heavier weapons favoured by Alistair and Sten. Her blades were sharp and she could move fast as she wielded them, but it took her several swings and jabs to even begin to damage the first earth creature she approached. Alistair’s taller, broader stature, coupled with his weightier sword would have felled it much quicker. It took several bone-jarring swings, but the creature did fall. Ri looked at her shortswords with a momentary sadness as she realised just how much these solid creatures would be damaging the masterfully crafted blades.

“What’s the situation?” she demanded, starting laying into a second monster. “Everyone else safe inside?” The elves heard her, that much she was sure of, although the way they steadfastly refused to look at her, let alone respond struck her as more than a little rude.

“Yes, ser,” one small voice piped up. “Thank you, ser,” Ri looked around and fixed the youngest of the group with a stern glare, trying to figure out what was going on. Shaking her head angrily she drove back the earth creature, sending a spiderweb of cracks through its torso until it was reduced to a shower of dirt scattering toward the river’s edge. The muscles of her arms were screaming in exhaustion from the constant exertion.

“Any of the monsters in the village?” she demanded, pushing a strand of hair behind her long tipped ears. She strode toward the fire, joining the younger elf in his fight. The lad gave a gasp, although upon a quick glance from Ri he didn’t seem to have taken a wound. “What?” she sniped, but only silence came back. “Are there any other monsters in the village?” Ri asked again, her voice loud enough to carry over the fighting.

“They come from the cliffs,” a gruff older elf declared.

“Fine,” Ri grunted, plunging both blades hilt deep into the earth creature. “I’ll go to the cliffs then.” She pulled her blades back in what she hoped was a cool move, but probably came across as a lot less effortless than she had envisioned. With an angry huff she started walking towards the cliffs beside the waterfall, finding a small group of earth creatures emerging from the darkness.

“You’re not from the village,” an unfamiliar voice followed her, and Ri glanced back to see one of the elves hot on her tail. “And you’re not human, so you must be one of the Dalish,” he surmised.

“Yep,” Ri shrugged, lifting her blades, but pausing within the limits of the firelight, letting the monsters finish closing the distance.

“The Dalish don’t come here,” the elf spoke plainly. “No one crosses the river except us elves.”

“I _am_ Elvhen,” Ri frowned, not quite understanding.

“That’s as may be,” her shadow accepted. “But you are not one of us, and we have good reason not to trust outsiders.” The word cut Ri, making her want to argue against it, but there was nothing she could say in her own defence.

“Well I can hardly trot back across the river now,” taking one step back, Ri braced herself for attack. She held one blade pointed toward the earthen monster, letting it do half the work in impaling itself. “So you’re stuck with me.”

“The Hahren will be grateful in the morning,” the elf groaned, beating another monster with his iron poker. “We lost two good men last night, another half-dozen are laid up injured.”

“Your women don’t fight?” it was an observation rather than an accusation. It seemed the humans too preferred to keep their women locked away. The only women bearing arms in the whole of Redcliffe seemed to be Ri, Leliana, and Morrigan. “What’s your name?”

“Semael,” came the breathless response above the grunts and clashing sounds of battle.

“Oriana,” she shot back.

A silence fell between the two elves as they fought against a steady stream of earth monsters. After a while a second and third city elf joined them, silently providing back up to their efforts. Ri fought angrily, resenting the elves the more they quietly exchanged words; displaying a camaraderie that she was clearly excluded from. Her only consolation came in the form of the relentless pace of the solid red monsters, which kept them all so preoccupied that they couldn’t possibly say they’d got it covered. She moved in to close the loose front line when one of the elves fell, giving him space once he was back on his feet and ready to return to the fight. The second time he fell she handed over a healing potion to the elf who attended him, her attention barely wavering from the endless fighting. Even so, the elves of Redcliffe maintained their distance.

 

Ri had no concept of time passing, nor of how many monsters they had slain between them, but she knew her limbs felt heavy, her arms protested against the weight of her swords, the muscles in her legs were seizing up as she took advantage of a lull in the fighting to pace to and from the riverbank. She was close enough to the waterfall that she felt the light spray mist over her face, surprisingly refreshing after hours of fighting. In the shadows of the night she couldn’t see how dusty her armour was, or how much of her skin was covered with a fine coating of the red powder, but she knew she was likely not a pretty sight.

Without a second thought, Ri squatted beside the rushing river and dropped her hands in to scoop up some water to sooth her dry throat. The second she touched the water she realised her mistake, reeling backwards but it was too late. Where the water touched her skin it seemed to latch on, two watery hands forming around her own; gripping tightly as she hauled herself away. A watery figure emerged from the water, refusing to let go as it pressed closer and closer to Ri. Everywhere the water touched her it seemed to stick fast. In no time at all it was permeating her leather armour to saturate the linen beneath.

There was a loud scream, a sound so alien it wasn’t until much later that Ri would realise it had come from her. The sensation of the ice cold water seeping purposefully over her body, starting from her hands and shins and somehow pulling itself up her torso, was consuming her senses. She had seen the water beings at work all those hours ago when they had entered the village. Even as she took a deep breath she could feel the water climbing up her neck and she knew what was happening.

The water was heavy; dragging at her clothes, her skin, Ri staggered as she tried to lift her hands to her face, but found her limbs too waterlogged to move. She looked around frantically, her lips now covered with cold water, keeping her from shouting for help. No one was looking her way; the elves were fighting a couple of earth monsters, and no one across the river was sparing a thought for the alienage. Ri screwed her eyes shut as she felt the uncomfortable sensation of water entering her nose. Shaking her head was almost impossible, and the slight movement she made only seemed to force the water further up her nose and down her throat.

This was it, Ri realised with a light-headed sense of bemusement. This was how she was going to die; drowning on land, shunned by her elvhen brothers, and failing to even start to face the Blight. She greeted the fuzzy darkness with a sense of shame and relief that her fight was over.

 

_Atop the cliff, Mustela cocked her head to one side, her ears alert. She let out a low whine as her instincts warred with her need to obey. She had been told to stay, to protect the human, but the human wasn’t doing anything; just sitting and waiting. He hadn’t heard what the mabari had; her mistress’s scream from far beneath them. Mustela whined again, gaining the human’s attention, but no clear directive. She shook her head, dislodging some dirt from her short fur, then stood up, dancing between the human and the top of the path that led toward her mistress. The human spoke, his words barely making sense. He was confused, but he wasn’t telling her what to do. Mustela gave one last impatient huff, then abandoned her post, hearing the human’s loud cry behind her._

 

_Racing down the hill, Mustela followed her nose, barking desperately as she ran. There were many people down here, as well as a number of different enemies, but she wasn’t there to fight. She followed her mistress’s scent to a small wooden construction, where she found some of the squadron they had been travelling with. The gentle, dancing human spotted her, but Mustela had no time to stop. The trail continued toward the rushing water, where it paused, then darted toward the buildings. Mustela tracked frantically, finding her path ended as her mistress had scaled one of the buildings. The warhound let out a mournful howl before leaping for the roof and finding herself unable to scrabble up._

_A soft hand on her shoulders caused Mustela to stop as the spry rogue caught up with her and looked up to the sky. Within moments the gentle one was climbing up onto the roof and the dog was once more alone. Mustela howled._

 

_Pacing desperately along the river’s edge, Mustela saw the rogue running through the darkness. By this point there was another figure beside the mabari, another pair of eyes fixed on the shadowy rogue as she crouched by a dark lump on the floor. Mustela heard a sharp intake of breath from beside her, then the air crackled and the river froze over. With fierce determination Morrigan strode forward, Mustela following behind, the hackles on the back of her neck standing uneasily as she crossed the solid ice, her paws flexing to try to gain purchase._

_The humans were speaking, to her, to each other, to the object on the floor which looked like her mistress, but didn’t smell like her. Their voices were raised, sharp, stressed; Mustela didn’t like it. She moved closer to the downed figure only to immediately be scolded by both of the humans._

_A flash of cold energy startled Mustela, as Morrigan’s ice spread over Ri, only to be quickly broken by Leliana’s sword handles, and suddenly the elf smelled like herself again. Mustela sunk down on her belly, growling a warning she didn’t know if she should follow through._

_The mabari watched, not understanding, as Leliana cleared the ice from Ri’s face, then bent over her, pressing their lips together frantically._

 

Ri came back from the brink, finding her head cradled in Leliana’s lap.

“What-” she sputtered, “what happened?”

“You have a very good dog,” Leliana answered kindly. “Can you stand? There’s not much time left until sunrise, but we are far from safe here.”

“I think I can,” Ri looked around, noting the trembling mabari, and the ice-covered bridge.

“Morrigan?” she ventured, beckoning the dog over with a nod of her head. In no time at all the mabari was on her lap, licking desperately at her face and keening as if they had been parted for days. Ri felt hot tears fall from her eyes as she wrapped her arms around the huge dog.

“Oh, Morrigan definitely wasn’t involved,” Leliana lied, a broad grin on her face. “Or worried.” Ri felt her lips curl into the hint of a smile.

“Thank you,” she pushed herself to her feet, looking around for her blades. Gingerly she lifted them up and held them at her side, feeling more than a little shaky. “Is that safe to cross?” she nodded toward the ice-covered bridge.

“It was a moment ago,” Leliana looked at it with a frown.

“Let’s go,” Ri decided, before glancing back at the elves who still showed no inclination to want to talk to her. Embarrassment curdled uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach as she recalled her sheer stupidity in touching the water.

Between Leliana and Mustela, Ri was back on her feet and ready to go. She stood for a moment, testing her stability, before striding quickly across the bridge back to the human side of the village.

“Were they elves?” Leliana asked lightly as they walked away.

“I’ll tell you later,” Ri scowled, angrily driving her blades into the first earth creature she saw, then feeling more than a little relieved as Leliana and Mustela piled on before her weakened arms proved unable to fight.

 

“Oriana!” Alistair’s worried bellow cut through the ebbing battle. Ri looked up in shock as the Warden shouldered his way through dissolving red monsters to stand before her.

“I’m in trouble,” Ri muttered helplessly to herself as she looked up at the broad soldier, reading worry in his deep brown eyes.

“What happened? Mustela just took off,” his sword was raised and he was cutting down enemies as he stood before her, his shield apparently forgotten as he reached for her with his left arm.

“It was a little dicey,” Ri downplayed her almost death. “I’ll explain later. Why aren’t you up there?”

“Area should be magic free until well after sunrise, so I came down,” Ri felt a surge of mixed emotion - as much as she was touched that he had left his post out of concern for her, she felt her cheeks burning with fierce shame that she had risked not only her own life, but his and the other knights up at the top of the cliff. She bit back the wave of self-deprecation as she raised her blades ineffectively against a creature, only for Mustela to fell it moments later. Leliana had moved further into the village, giving them a little privacy as she continued clearing out the battlefield.

“I’m such an idiot,” she sighed softly.

 

“Bloody brilliant work,” Bann Teagan greeted them as the first rays of sun started to illuminate the village. The remaining few monsters clustered into the long shadows cast by the buildings, where they were quickly reduced to dust. Ri caught sight of Morrigan striding savagely from water being to water being, efficiently turning each one to ice, whilst a dutiful Sten followed behind, shattering each ice statue with ease. If Morrigan leant a little more heavily on her staff than usual, she was making every effort to hide it. “You really made a difference tonight,” the bann grinned, as if it were nothing more than a typical skirmish.

“Morrigan says we’re up against a mage, a young one, or one in early stages of training,” Ri spoke softly, surprised the bann paused his congratulatory crowing long enough to hear her.

“Troubling news,” he shook his head. “But news we have time to process.”

“Were there many losses?” Alistair asked, standing mercifully close to Ri, allowing her to rest against his free arm.

“Initial reports suggest only five or six,” Teagan bowed his head a little. “We lost two dozen last night, so it’s an improvement for sure, but the villagers will feel it keenly. Understandably,” he added hurriedly.

“Looks like Morrigan’s figured out how to handle the water creatures,” Alistair spoke up, surprising Ri with his forthright tones. “I would suggest tonight she be stationed down here. We only really need me up top. Maybe one other, just a runner in case I can’t do what I do,” he looked briefly to Ri, flashing her a calm smile.

“Alistair!” Perth’s voice joined them as the knight sauntered through the beginning of the clear up operation. “Hero of the bloody hour, eh?” he smacked his gloved hand loudly against Alistair’s back, letting out a jovial laugh. “Honestly, Teagan, you should have seen this guy. Actual living legend, the way he just took out the whole horde in a split second.”

“It wasn’t quite-” Alistair shook his head bashfully.

“What is that trick? Some Warden power?” Perth pressed.

“No, worse luck,” Alistair shrugged. “Something I picked up in Templar training. I wasn’t sure I’d still be able to do it, but - seems like it works.”

“Whatever it was, it’s bloody invaluable. If you weren’t a Warden I’d be conscripting you into Eamon’s army.”

“How are we going to get into the castle?” Ri felt a swell of relief as Alistair pulled them back onto a more important topic. The battle had proved to her just how far out of her depth she was, and how unready to lead.

“That’s to work out later,” Teagan beamed. “Take yourself and your men up to the tavern for something to eat and a sleep. I’ll oversee the grave digging and any urgent reparations. Regroup after midday and we can decide next moves.”

“I’ll get the others,” Ri spoke softly, her voice not carrying much further than Alistair’s ears. He turned a concerned face toward her, then gave a warm nod.

“I’ll be right there,” he returned.

 

Ri walked away, her hand falling automatically to rest atop Mustela’s solid head. They strolled first toward the mill, where she gingerly pulled herself back atop the roof and reclaimed her bow and quiver. Her return to the ground was less than elegant, a shock running through one knee and reminding her that she felt less than fit. Deftly she fished a very crumpled elfroot leaf from her belt and stuffed it into her mouth.

“How are you doing?” Leliana’s concern was as warming a balm as the medicinal herb.

“Been a lot better,” Ri admitted. “You?”

“A few bruises, but nothing too severe.”

“You saved my life,” it came out as more of an accusation than Ri had meant.

“These things happen,” Leliana smiled.

“Thank you,” Ri gave graciously.

“What now?”

“Food and bed,” Ri didn’t try to hide her relief at the promise of rest. They hailed Morrigan and Sten and relayed their immediate plans.

“They had better have made something more appetising than that pie,” Morrigan grumbled as they started the climb up the cliff.


	19. In Your Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from a song by Megan Davies & Jeffrey James

The weary fighters were met with generous helpings of a stew of the water-fowl Ri had caught on their journey to Redcliffe, with plenty of fresh bread to soak up the thick, herby liquid. Very little was said as they all eased their stiff, battle-sore bodies around one table and eagerly tucked in to the food placed before them. Even Mustela got a bowl of broth, and a heap of raw meaty bones.

Teagan had sent a healer up to hand out health potions and see to the group’s few wounds. Both Morrigan and Sten had cuts from the shattering ice, although neither had anything that warranted sewing up. All in all, they had walked away with little more than bruises to show for their hellish night. Even the shaky feeling that had dogged Ri’s steps as she’d climbed the steep hill had faded somewhat in the face of the warm food and the steadily burning fire.

Conversation was stilted as the group ate. Ri chose to believe this was because everyone was tired, yet the change in Morrigan’s demeanour was painfully obvious. She wasn’t even looking at Alistair, and departed for bed long before everyone else had finished eating.

“She’s mad at me,” Alistair sighed.

“Close,” Leliana smiled.

“Should I apologise for something?”

“No,” Ri spoke up quickly. “She’s not mad at you, she’s terrified of you.”

“What?” Alistair turned wide eyes on the straight-talking elf.

“You disarmed her,” Sten put in gruffly.

“Imagine mid-battle someone took your sword, shield, and armour, then bound your hands behind your back,” Leliana elaborated. “You took her magic from her.” Alistair didn’t seem to know what to say to that.

“Just give her some space,” Ri counselled softly. “She’ll be embarrassed and vulnerable, and those aren’t exactly very Morrigan things to be.”

“Don’t be surprised if she acts like nothing happened. She seems the type to style it out,” Alistair looked between Ri and Leliana, sheer confusion on his face.

“I don’t get how this makes sense to you,” he admitted with a hopeless shrug. “I figured I’d just say something and we could forget it ever happened.” Ri patted him gently on the back of his hand.

“I’m just going to step out for a little air,” Leliana announced in her musical tones, breaking the despondent mood. “Feel free to put Mustela in my room when you go up,” she gave Ri the slightest of winks, before leaving her chair.

“We should head up soon,” Ri leant into Alistair after they had said their goodnights to the religious woman. “When did Sten leave?”

“Not long ago, I don’t think,” he shrugged. “Stealthy, for a big guy.”

“Come on then,” she smiled, taking hold of the warrior’s bare hands. “Bed.”

 

“So what happened down in the village?” Alistair asked as he closed the door behind them. Ri looked back at him and gave a pained smile.

“It was shit,” she sighed, automatically drawing close to him to undo the buckles down his side. It took so long for the heavily armoured warrior to disrobe and it only seemed sensible that she give him a hand before getting started on her own lighter pieces. “I managed to get to the alienage, but turns out they’re all a bunch of tossers,” stepping back from Alistair, Ri let out a low sigh. “They treated me like a stranger; a trespasser. Like I used to treat any humans I found in the forest. Everything used to be so simple; my clan were my people and everyone else was the enemy and now,” she gave a dry laugh. “Now I’m travelling with humans and a Qunari, trying to build a nation-wide army to save the whole gods-forsaken world. This isn’t my life.”

Alistair remained quiet, working through the various buckles and stays on his armour. He gave a small, sweet smile as Ri met his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she gave in. “It’s just been quite a night.”

“Night’s over,” he coaxed. “It’s just you and me, no one else. No human or elf politics. No Blight. Just two people who deserve a break.”

“So I should just take this armour off?” Ri picked up on his intimation.

“Yes,” came the enthusiastic response. “Yes, that is exactly what you should be doing.”

“As you wish, your majesty,” Ri gave a knowing wink, before busying herself with removing the light armour.

The room descended into a comfortable silence, but for the sound of undressing. Despite helping Alistair, Ri still found herself divested of her armour first. She folded her slim-cut trousers atop the pile of leather, then reached for the hem of her large linen shirt. The momentary hesitation surprised her - it didn’t feel like shyness, she had always thought herself comfortable with her body, not to mention that they had shared a bed the night before, and had gone a lot further in the darkness of the campsite. There was just something picking at the back of her mind; an ugly side effect of her failures in the day’s battle, of a surfacing of long-hidden doubts about their mission and her role in the upcoming war.

Sucking in a deep breath, Ri forced her misgivings aside and pulled the shirt off, leaving her in just breastband and smallclothes. She stretched out her arms in front of her, surveying the dark skin for any new wounds or bruises. Her right arm was definitely sore, but didn’t appear to be showing any damage. More of a surprise was a blue-black mark Ri discovered on her stomach; marring the skin just above her belly button. It seemed to have one central point, with half a dozen jagged black lines reaching out in all directions. Brushing her finger across it seemed to prompt a chill memory.

The sound of metal clattering against metal shook Ri from her introversion and she spun around to see Alistair red-faced, ducking to pick up the armour he had dropped.

“Sorry!” he offered, tidying away the offending article and turning to meet her eyes. “I was miles away,” he trailed off as his eyes dropped, his expression becoming quite unreadable. Ri fought the urge to cross her arms and cover herself. There were too many scars and marks to be able to hide, so why not let him see the bruised and broken truth that was her near-naked body. The battle wound she hated the most was the mass of claw marks that stretched from above her clavicles down to just before the swell of her breasts. Four jagged curving scars on each side, where the bereskarn had raked at her, its tainted blood ending her old life and starting this tumultuous new one.

“Hi,” her voice came out little more than a whisper as she struggled to find the words to say.

“Hi,” Alistair replied, a mystified smile on his face.

“I’m a mess,” she admitted, just as Alistair spoke.

“Maker, Ri, you’re beautiful,” he laughed nervously, his eyes burning with earnest desire. Ri held his gaze, giving just the smallest shake of her head as she forcibly brushed aside her insecurities.

“Shirt off,” she ordered, a cocky smile beginning to form on her lips. Intentionally, she remained as far from him as the small room allowed, wanting to get her own look at his form.

Alistair complied eagerly, if perhaps a little slower than Ri had wanted. Her smile broadened in delight as she realised he was putting on a show as he pulled his shirt up inch by agonising inch, revealing his flat muscular stomach, a full rainbow of bruises showing up far more glaringly against his pale skin than they did on Ri. A line of four healed piercings ran from the centre of his chest up and out to his shoulder. Ri frowned at them, not understanding how the arrows had missed his heart, and not wanting to consider the possibility that they might not have missed.

As his shirt hit the floor, Alistair hurriedly sent his trousers after it, until he stood before Ri, clad only in his smalls.

“You first,” he urged. Ri lifted her eyebrows at the challenge, then accepted her fate, lifting her hands first to release the stays that kept her breastband in place, dropping the strip of material behind her, before bending to remove her last item of clothing. She straightened up with a flourish of her hands; arms held wide as if asking Alistair whether he liked what he saw.

The former-templar-in-training was naked within seconds, his arousal already beginning to show.

“Mythal lasa ghilan,” Ri sent a quick prayer to the all-mother. “Are all humans so-” she couldn’t tear her eyes from the sheer girth of Alistair’s manhood. “I mean, I’m assuming you’ve never been with an elf before?”

“I had never been with a woman before you,” came the unexpected admission. Ri’s eyes flicked up to Alistair’s face, all thoughts about the anatomical differences between humans and elves forgotten.

“Really?” she pressed. “Wow, um -” she couldn’t help but to give a little laugh of surprise. “I couldn’t tell,” it was supposed to be a compliment, albeit a clumsy one. “How had you not-”

“Monastery, remember,” Alistair retorted, and Ri realised she could see him shutting down, retreating from her.

“Hey, hey,” she coaxed, stepping toward him until they were less than an arm’s length apart. “It makes no difference to me whether you’ve been with a hundred people or no one ever. It’s what happens between us that counts.” All thoughts of her earlier failings were gone from Ri’s head as she relished the confidence that came with her experience in the realm of physical affection. “We can take this as fast or as slow as you want,” she eased further forward, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek. “I’m all yours.”  


Alistair trailed his fingers loosely up Ri’s side, his touch almost unbearably soft as he traced the contours of her hips, then across the softer skin of her stomach and up through the valley of her breasts. He lingered for a moment on the extensive scarring, his eyes darkening with emotion, before he dipped his head to meet hers. Ri tipped her head back, feeling Alistair’s lips hot against hers as he raced to make up for lost time. He kissed her as if they had been parted for months, as if they hadn’t slept the previous day in each other’s arms. His tongue, far from clumsy in his inexperience, was dancing intricately with her own as his hands found her hips.

Gently, Alistair broke the kiss and took half a step back, taking hold of Ri’s hands in his own.

“Is everything-” Ri’s voice faded into a smile as she registered the grin on his face.

“I’m just taking this all in,” he confessed. “It was rather dark last time.” Ri placed her hands on her hips, her posture open as she allowed Alistair to enjoy the view. “Does it hurt?” his eyes had come to rest on her scarred chest.

“Not really. Whatever Keeper Marethari did to it made it pretty numb. The pain was all deep inside. It’s still there, but ever since the Joining it’s been this tiny pit of darkness rather than the raging cold fire it was at first.” Alistair lifted his hand to his own chest, resting a closed fist over the very centre of his sternum.

“In here,” he nodded. “It doesn’t hurt so much, but it’s a constant presence. A reminder, I guess, that we’re part of something bigger, that we have a destiny that most other people don’t.”

“Assuming we live to see it through,” Ri shrugged coolly. “There’s no guarantee we’ll even make it that far.”

“You will,” Alistair chuckled. He turned and took a seat on the edge of the bed, pulling Ri to sit beside him, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her close. “You’re the fiercest, strongest person I know, Ri Mahariel. Nothing as trivial as a Blight is going to stop you.” Ri gave the smallest of frowns, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I mean it, Ri,” he urged. “We’re going to make it through this. We have to.”

“And then?” she pressed softly.

“And then we win, the world is saved and-”

“And then you take the throne, I give the Orlesian wardens a right bollocking for taking their damned time, and we go our separate ways.”

“I don’t want-” Alistair protested, but Ri turned her head up and planted her lips against his jaw.

“I know,” she gave gently. “But we have to admit it’s a likely possibility, and we have to prepare for it.” Alistair remained quiet, still, his body stiff beside her. “We don’t have to prepare for it right now,” Ri capitulated, kissing Alistair’s cheek once more, then rising from the bed and moving to sit astride his lap. Their eyes locked, Ri’s elevated position meant their heads were level as they kissed again.

There was an unspoken urgency to their movements. Alistair gripped tightly to her waist, holding her close as their mouths moved together. He moaned, her name slipping from his lips as Ri took a breath. She dropped her hand between her thighs, reaching down to find his swollen member. Alistair moaned again, his lips pressed tightly to hers as she wrapped her nimble fingers around his cock and started to tentatively coax it toward full arousal. Working her hand slowly, Ri ran her palm the full length of Alistair’s impressive penis.

“This good?” she asked, somewhat breathlessly.

“Very good,” he returned, running a hand down her back and over her rear. “May I?” Ri nodded as Alistair made use of his larger frame and long arms to reach around behind her, his fingers reaching round past the base of her spine and finding their way to the soft folds of her vulva.

“You certainly seem to know your way around,” she purred into his ear as she felt the tip of his finger slip briefly inside her, then teasingly withdraw.

“The older boys brought back pamphlets and books from the local brothel,” he confessed, his voice shaking as he breathed through Ri’s delicate ministrations.

“Oh yes?” Ri’s breath hitched as she felt Alistair’s finger press further, a little clumsy with his enthusiasm, but not unpleasantly so.

“Yes,” there was a sudden fire in his voice as Alistair withdrew his hand. Ri gave a small mewling groan at the loss of sensation. “I need you to lie on the bed,” he gently moved her hand away from between his legs, taking his erect penis in his own hand as Ri moved to obey his request.

“Like this?” she asked, resting her head on the flat straw-packed pillow. Her dark curls spread out either side of her head, free from her usual practical up-do.

“Perfect,” he breathed, positioning himself above her and leaning down to place a chaste kiss on her lips. Slowly, gently, he trailed his kisses over her jaw, and onto her neck, his body covering hers as he moved downward. With almost palpable restraint he travelled down to her breast, taking his time as he flicked his tongue over her nipple. He shifted his weight onto one arm, freeing the other hand to tenderly palm her other breast. Ri gave a soft moan of contentment at the Warden’s efforts. She pressed her head back into the pillow, struggling not to arch her back, to press her body against his in a bid to hurry things along. Alistair lifted his head, his breath warm against her rapidly cooling nipple. Responding to her wanton need, he moved further down the bed, placing feather-light kisses over her newly scarred stomach. He settled between her thighs, leaning on one forearm, his free hand gently parting her legs enough to grant him access.

Ri let out a low squeal of delight as she felt Alistair’s lips and tongue attend to her nether regions. He pressed his splayed fingers on her thigh, the pressure a little unexpected at first but quickly forgotten under Alistair’s tentative motions. She wasn’t sure whether it was because she now knew she was his first, or whether she would have noticed anyway, but there was a definite hesitancy to his actions. Softly, too softly, he ran his tongue along the lips of her labia, the tip of it flicking over her clit, too light for Ri’s taste.

“More,” she urged, her hands lacing through his hair. The encouragement was all he needed, Alistair increased his fervour, lapping enthusiastically between her legs. “Higher, a little higher,” Ri coaxed, unafraid to give a little instruction. “Yes, there,” she felt her hips buck beneath his face as he licked and sucked at her sensitive clit. Alistair’s hands snaked up; one grasped hold of Ri’s hip, attempting to calm her involuntary movements, whilst the other found a place between her thighs. The Dalish elf had barely a moment to wonder at the content of the pamphlets Alistair had been reading, when she felt a pressure at her entrance. At her gasp Alistair paused, his finger withdrawing.

“Is this-”

“Yes,” Ri breathed, insistent as she closed her eyes, her hands gripping tightly to the thin fabric beneath her.

“Yes?” Alistair’s teasing voice was not what Ri wanted to hear. She looked down the length of her body and met his eyes with a mix of frustration and desperation.

“Please,” she mewled. “I need you,” the confession brought a wide grin to the Warden’s face before he dipped his head once more, his tongue once more dancing intricate patterns over her clit. He pressed one finger through her vulva, causing goosebumps to raise on Ri’s exposed flesh at the dual sensation of being filled whilst his mouth kept busy. A long, low moan escaped her lips as she felt Alistair pick up a rhythm, his finger moving in and out of her, the feeling of his fingertip against her inner walls almost too much to bear. Ri could feel her head tip back, her chin jutting into the air, eyes tightly closed as Alistair slid a second finger into her. His lips and tongue worked diligently, rending Ri silent but for her gasps of pleasure.

As Ri’s breaths came quicker and quicker she could feel her entire body tensing, until all at once she was undone. Tremors of pleasure ran through her as she lifted her hips, her hands returning to Alistair’s head, both to ground her and to slowly push him away from her as his attention to her throbbing clit became too much to bear. The overwhelming rush of adrenaline and emotion brought a tear to Ri’s eyes as the day’s stresses and exhaustion were burnt from her body, and for a moment she lay there, still, protected, her world gloriously shattered into a million brightly shining pieces.

“If that’s what they teach you humans at monasteries it’s a wonder anyone chooses any other career path,” she smiled serenely, feeling Alistair’s stubble-covered cheek rest against her inner thigh.

“It’s a closely guarded secret,” he returned softly, his fingers brushing tender circles against her other leg. “Couldn’t tell people otherwise they’d all want to join and we just didn’t have the bed space.”

“Sounds a little mean,” Ri purred. “Keeping something that good a secret. Unfair on all the women who don’t get to experience _that_. You should hold classes.”

“Classes?” Alistair rose on his elbows, lifting his head to look at Ri, an amused half-smile on his lips.

“Or make your own pamphlets,” she giggled.

“I’m not making pamphlets,” he laughed.

“No?” Ri kept her eyes locked on his as she reached down between their legs, her hand finding his hard cock and brushing her fingers along its full length. “You want to do something about that instead? Seeing as you’re not interested in pamph-” she broke off as Alistair took her hint and rose up on his knees, shuffling up the bed as he got into position.

“You want to be on top?” his concern in the heat of the moment was oddly touching.

“No, just -” Ri took a quick breath. “Just take it slow.” Alistair nodded his understanding, not breaking eye contact as he drew closer. With Ri’s guidance, he was there, the head of his penis slipping between her wet folds. The elf’s hands lay flat against the human’s firm abdomen, ready to halt his approach should he move too fast. Even with such care being taken, Ri braced herself; breathing out slowly, her mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as she felt herself being filled more than she had ever felt possible. There was no pain, but there was certainly a little discomfort as her body adjusted to the new development. Ri’s mind was consumed with a hyper-awareness of her nether regions, her clit still engorged and sensitive, those sensations barely registering alongside the sensation of being impossibly full. Her eyes were fixed on her lover’s face, drinking in his rapturous expression.

“Are you-” Alistair trailed off, concern briefly marring his visible ecstasy.

“It’s good,” Ri reassured, rolling her hips to permit Alistair further entry.

“Oh Ri,” he exhaled, the two words seeming much longer than they ought to have been. Ri whimpered a little as Alistair pressed forth, dropping his gaze for a second to glance downward.

“Enjoying the daylight?” Ri demurred, rolling her hips once more, his encroach more bearable now she had had time to adjust.

“Mmph,” Alistair’s face contorted a little as he bit his lower lip in an effort to hold back.

“You can speed up a little,” Ri urged, causing Alistair to let out a breath she hadn’t known he was holding. With an impressive show of control he smoothly finished pushing into her, his cock not fully within her, but it was clear to both of them it would go no further. Holding tightly to her hips, Alistair started to withdraw, his expression almost stern as he oh-so-carefully pulled almost all the way out, before steadily driving back home again. This increase in movement, Ri discovered, seemed to enhance her pleasure, the friction sending small tremors through her legs. She panted breathlessly, noticing Alistair’s concerned gaze as he looked down upon her and formed her mouth into a reassuring smile. “Keep going,” she whispered, then cried out in delight as he obeyed.

Leaning over her, Alistair pressed his mouth to hers, swallowing her moans of passion as their hips moved together. Ri wrapped her legs around his waist, tipping her pelvis back to allow him a little deeper in. She could feel her inner muscles clenching around his thick member. The feeling wasn’t quite as all encompassing as that his had mouth elicited, she trembled at even the memory of that, but there was a definite pleasure in his earnest thrusting.

Ri’s fingers gripped tight to Alistair’s back, feeling his taut muscles rising and falling with his breaths and his movements. He filled her again and again, grunting hungrily with each stroke.

“Maker, Ri,” he gasped. “You feel so-” Ri gripped him tighter, their rhythm descending into an almost desperate rutting. Ri raised her hands above her head, taking hold of the wooden bedframe and clenching her fingers tightly about the sturdy struts of the headboard. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Alistair let out a stream of very un-templar-like curses, his pounding suddenly stopping as he came, his breath shaking as he dropped to his elbows, planting kisses along Ri’s jawline.

Ri felt herself adjusting position as they slowly came apart, almost naturally finding herself rolling onto her side to allow Alistair to lie behind her, his arms surrounding her. Hot, and sticky with sweat and the result of their exertions, Ri’s eyelids were heavy, her battle wounds ached as if they were fresh, but the warm breath on the back of her neck somehow took the edge off.

“Ma serannas,” she murmured, slipping eagerly into the arms of sleep.

 

The dreams came, as they always did. Dreams of hunger and blood, of aimless destruction. The darkspawn were waiting; waiting for something bigger than them. They were afraid, but that fear was so deep down, hidden under the appetite for livestock, for human flesh. Each night she dreamed she seemed to be in a different darkspawn, a different part of the country. She scoured the sky whenever her host’s actions allowed it, seeking the tip of a wing, or the endless darkness of the dragon’s eyes.

The dream passed without sign of the archdemon, leaving Ri a frustrated passenger, her heart hardened to the homes being torn down, the few stubborn remaining humans perishing despite their attempts to defend themselves.

 

Ri woke early, resigned to the fact that it would take her some time to get used to sleeping after the nightmares. As quietly as she could, she climbed from the bed and pulled on her armour. Both she and her clothes were in desperate need of a wash and all of their combined clean clothes were in the wagon.

As she crept through the corridor behind the inn, Ri tapped lightly on Leliana’s door. She opened the door a fraction and found Mustela curled up on the bed, no sign of the chantry sister.

“Come on then,” she called to the large dog.

They padded into the bar area, finding it empty but for Bella, who sat half asleep in a chair behind the bar. She moved to get up as Ri entered, but the elf waved her back to her slumber.

 

Outside the inn, Ri looked up the hill toward the windmill and the path to the castle. Fixing whatever was wrong with the arl seemed almost impossible given that they could barely handle the rising threat to the village beneath. Squinting into the midday sun, Ri cocked her head to one side as she recognised the figure walking toward the inn.

“Leliana?”

“Oriana,” came the lilting response. Ri raised her eyebrows, unspoken questions fading before she dared ask them.

“I don’t suppose you know where an embarrassment to the Wardens might find a bucket of water and a quiet corner? I don’t think I fancy freshwater bathing right now.”


End file.
